


How Kurt Hummel Got Married, Fell in Love, and Met his Dream Man (In That Order)

by aubreyli



Series: How Kurt Hummel Got Married verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arranged Marriage, Kink Meme Prompt Fill, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/aubreyli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kurt Hummel's wedding day is one of the worst days of his life.  Thankfully, things go uphill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the glee kink meme: _As the younger brother (with Finn being the eldest and therefore will inherit all of Burt’s land/property/money), Kurt is sold to _ _ _ _ _ (insert name of any given male on Glee) as a husband(/wife - if you prefer this wording more). At first Kurt is dead set against it, he doesn’t want to be married to some random man. However, one earth shattering orgasm on the wedding night soon changes Kurt’s mind and he becomes an insatiable cockslut for his hubby._

Kurt Hummel was about seven years old when he first started planning his dream wedding. In that first iteration, the wedding colors were going to be yellow and green (Kurt’s favorite colors at the time); he was going to have a triple-layer cake made of Oreo cookies, gummy bears, and Reese’s Pieces; his groom was going to be Matthew Kaplan, who was  _tall_  and  _blond_  and in the  _third grade,_  and who had helped Kurt get a book he wanted that was on the top shelf; and they were going to slow dance to “Can You Feel the Love Tonight,” from  _The Lion King._   
  
Since then, his dream wedding has gone through multiple revisions, in accordance with the latest fashions, his ever-maturing sense of aesthetics (the current color selection, for instance, is a muted French blue and pale gold, because Kurt’s a winter, with deep chocolate brown as an accent color to add some warmth), and the object of his current admiration (Alex Pettyfer – yum!). As Kurt gets older, the wedding locations become increasingly exotic to keep pace with his ever-increasing knowledge of geography, and the fantasies about... ahem, the events  _afterward_  ever more explicit (seriously: in that first version, the wedding ended in a  _picnic_ ).  
  
But a couple of things have stayed the same: the first being that he is always “Kurt Hummel-_______,” because there’s no way he’s letting someone else get top billing. The second is his dream husband: he’s usually tall and blond (though he did make an exception for Robert Pattison after seeing him in  _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,_  an exception that promptly ended after  _Twilight_ ), with chiselled features, a well-sculpted body, and a wonderfully sophisticated sense of style; a man who is sensitive enough to cry with Kurt at the end of  _Moulin Rouge,_  but butch enough to hoist Kurt up against a wall and fuck him till he screams (this last one’s a more recent addition).   
  
The ‘living happily ever with lots and lots of awesome sex’ part, of course, goes without saying.  
  
These things are important, because they help explain why Kurt Hummel is currently fucking  _devastated_  on his wedding day, as he stands in the courtyard of a fucking  _boarding school,_  dressed in a navy suit with a red tie to match the  _navy-and-red_  decor, and listening to a fucking  _a cappella choir_  step-touch to Paul McCartney – an a cappella choir that is currently featuring the vocal talents of one Blaine Anderson, also known as Kurt’s fucking  _husband_  (they pulled him out of the crowd and into their ranks a few songs ago), and seriously? How much of an attention whore does this guy have to be to perform at his  _own goddamned wedding?_  
  
“He’s a pretty good singer,” Finn says, walking up to Kurt and handing him a ginger ale, all the while looking like a bad dog that’s just been punished. Finn’s been looking like that ever since Kurt forbade him from continuing to apologize for being five months and eighteen days older than Kurt and thus kicking him off his inheritance and forcing him into this cruel parody of what should have been the happiest day of Kurt’s life.  
  
“And he’s not old or ugly,” Finn adds. He’s been doing that a lot too – trying to make Kurt feel better by pointing out the various ways in which this day does not absolutely suck. His previous attempt had been, “Hey, at least the cake’s delicious.”  
  
Kurt snorts dismissively. Blaine Anderson is  _short,_  even shorter than Kurt, with eyebrows that look ready to crawl off his face and start their own species, dark hair so shellacked that it could probably withstand a hurricane, and no discernable inkling of the basics of fashion, given that he put himself and Kurt in  _matching tuxes,_  despite the fact that their colorings are  _completely_  different. Blaine is also unassuming and scrupulously courteous in a way that some might consider  _dapper_  or even  _charming,_  but to Kurt is just  _boring as hell._  And since the marriage contract that pretty much makes him Blaine’s property also forbids him from extramarital sex (Blaine, of course, being the holder of the contract, suffers no such limitations), Kurt’s already starting to mourn for his sex life.  
  
(He told his girlfriends all this at his no-straight-guys-allowed bachelor party that the girls insisted he throw as recompense for the fact that he wasn’t inviting anyone other than Finn to the wedding, spilling his woes with his head in Tina’s lap and his sixth empty shot glass dangling from his fingers. Mercedes stroked his hair and promised to get him a vibrator as a wedding present. Rachel offered her services as editor and songwriter should Kurt ever wish to write a musical based on his marital experiences. Lauren said that she’d beat Blaine up if he ever cheated on Kurt, and Santana and Brittany gave him their compiled list of the phone numbers of all the guys they’d made out with but who later turned out to be gay, in case Kurt ever decided to fuck the contract and cheat on Blaine anyway.  
  
“I wish I was straight so I could marry you guys instead,” Kurt said, touched. Then he passed out.)  
  
“Look,” Finn says, and his voice is so uncharacteristically serious that Kurt actually turns and looks at him. “Burt... I obviously didn’t know your dad as well as you did, but I don’t think he would want you to be upset like this.”  
  
Kurt bites his lip and looks down, willing his eyes to stop filling.  
  
“I – I guess I’m just saying,” Finn continues, stammering uncertainly, “I mean, I can’t imagine how much it must totally suck for you, and I’m still amazed that you don’t totally hate me, but... can you try to not go into this thing already hating it, please?”  
  
Finn looks positively miserable. Kurt sighs. “I’ll try.”  
  
“Awesome!” Finn brightens. “And hey, it really might not be that bad – Mike Chang’s sister apparently went to Asian Camp with Blaine’s sister, and he said that she said that Blaine’s sister said that her brother was a totally cool dude.”  
  
Kurt sighs again.  
  
Up on the stage, his...  _husband’s_  a cappella group has just finished their last song, a table-pounding rendition of Maroon 5’s “Misery.” Kurt watches as Blaine finishes his solo with a flourish, and is promptly buried by a dozen blue-blazer-wearing boys, all laughing and hugging him fervently. Blaine surfaces from the pile a few seconds later, clothing askew but hair still perfectly in place, and begins to scan the courtyard, looking for something. He meets Kurt’s gaze just as Kurt realizes that Blaine’s looking for  _him,_  and Kurt has just enough time to plaster on a polite, chipper smile as Blaine crosses the courtyard toward him.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine says, smiling. He’s flushed and a little out of breath from performing, and even Kurt has to admit that it’s a good look on him. Then he picks up Kurt’s left hand and presses his lips against Kurt’s ring finger, his other hand sliding around Kurt’s back to rest just above his waist. It’s an unsettlingly intimate gesture, and Kurt can’t quite suppress his flinch.  
  
Blaine pulls back, his smile fading. “Are you all right?”  
  
Shit. “Fine,” Kurt says with false brightness. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”  
  
“Oh.” Blaine glances guiltily back over at the now-empty stage. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have kept us; I know you’ve had a long day. We can leave now, if you’d like?”  
  
Which isn’t what Kurt would like at all, but he can only continue to smile, and say, “That’d be lovely.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll have someone bring the limo around,” Blaine says. “Meet me out front?”   
  
Kurt nods mutely.  
  
With a lingering squeeze of Kurt’s hand, Blaine walks toward the main building.  
  
“Well,” Kurt says, turning to Finn, and that’s as far as he gets before Finn has Kurt wrapped up in his arms. His ginger ale splashes on Finn’s sleeve, but he doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Call us if you need anything,” Finn says. His voice sounds a bit choked, and great,  _that’s_  all Kurt needs right now. “Good luck.”  
  
Kurt hugs him back. “Thanks,” he says, when he detaches himself from his brother. He takes a deep breath and, with his head held high, starts walking toward his new life.  
  
+++  
  
The car ride to the hotel room that the Andersons have booked for this occasion is relatively silent, but not as uncomfortable as Kurt had feared. It’s mostly because both of them spend the bulk of the half-hour ride on their phones, with Kurt trying valiantly to text ten people at the same time, and Blaine fielding phone call after phone call from friends who want to offer congratulations and “advice.”  
  
“My friends are jerks,” Blaine grouses, after a conversation with someone named Jeff leaves him blushing furiously. The fond smile tugging at his lips, though, belies his annoyance.  
  
Kurt, who can certainly relate to  _that,_  grins back. “One of my friends, Puck, keeps sending me links to gay porn websites.”  
  
“Is he gay too?”  
  
“No, I think he’s just trying to be helpful.”  
  
It seems like no time has passed at all, before Blaine is saying, “We’re here,” and they’re pulling into the circular driveway of definitely one of the nicer hotels in Ohio. Kurt sends off a quick, final mass text to his friends, and puts his phone into his jacket pocket.  
  
Blaine gets out of the limo first, and quickly dashes around to Kurt’s side so that he can help Kurt out of the car, his gentlemanly manners at odds with the boyish grin on his face. Kurt gets one last text while Blaine is thanking and dismissing the driver. It’s from Mercedes:  _Good luck, Boo. Don’t forget that contract or no contract, you were ours first._  
  
A sudden burst of warmth floods Kurt’s chest, and it’s enough to keep him smiling even as Blaine holds Kurt’s hand the entire way to the elevator, his thumb brushing over Kurt’s ring too frequently and possessively to be accidental.  
  
As soon as the elevator doors close and Blaine has punched in his floor number, he turns toward Kurt, grinning as he presses up against him, hands splayed against Kurt’s waist. Kurt knows intellectually that Blaine’s shorter than him; hell, in this position, he can clearly see that Blaine has to tilt his chin slightly to look at him, but it suddenly feels like there’s...  _more_  of Blaine somehow, like Kurt is actually physically trapped by Blaine’s bulk.  
  
He leans in, and for a moment, Kurt is terrified that Blaine’s going to kiss him, even as a snide voice inside his head reminds him that the terms of his damned contract dictate that Blaine’s going to do a hell of a lot more before the night is over.   
  
But Blaine doesn’t even ghost his lips over Kurt’s skin, tilting his head instead to whisper in Kurt’s ear, “I hope you know: I’m really looking forward to tonight.”  
  
Kurt’s entire body stiffens as an unexpected spike of arousal jolts down his spine, mixing with his fear in a way that makes his breath catch. He clenches his jaw and fists his hands against his sides.  
  
“Kurt?” Blaine’s not grinning anymore; he looks worried. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Calm down, calm down, Kurt chants silently, and gives Blaine the best approximation of his show smile that he can manage. “Nothing’s wrong, what could be wrong?” And when Blaine still doesn’t look convinced, he adds, “I’m just excited, I guess.”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine says, smiling hesitantly. He looks like he’s going to say something more, but then the elevator stops, and he steps away from Kurt. “Shall we?” He holds out his hand, and waits for Kurt to take it before he leads Kurt out of the elevator and down the hall.  
  
They come to a stop in front of a large, ornately carved door. Blaine swipes his keycard, pushes open the door, and turns to Kurt, the same boyish grin from earlier on his face. “I know this isn’t actually  _our_  threshold,” he says, “but if you don’t mind...” He holds out his arms.  
  
Kurt glances down at the open circle of Blaine’s arms, then at his hopefully grinning face, and sighs. “Sure.”   
  
Blaine beams at him, then slides one arm around Kurt’s back, bends down and tucks the other around Kurt’s thighs, and heaves him up with a surprising degree of ease that’s... actually kind of hot. It’d be sexier if Blaine wasn’t still grinning like an idiot, though, Kurt thinks, as Blaine carries him into the hotel room.  
  
+++  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Kurt is in the fanciest hotel room he’s ever seen. He’s lying on his back in the middle of a truly gargantuan four-poster bed, listening to Blaine sing in the shower and wondering whether or not he should be getting naked. On the one hand, the thought of Blaine seeing him naked makes him really uncomfortable. He also doesn’t want to seem too... eager. But on the other hand, Kurt knows that he has to do this, and maybe seeing him naked will make Blaine forgo the foreplay and just get straight to business, so that Kurt can get this it over with as quickly as possible.  
  
Okay, naked it is, then, Kurt decides, and starts tugging at his tie.  
  
He is down to his boxer-briefs (Calvin Klein in heather grey – his favorite pair and one of the few items of clothing he had on today that was actually  _his_ ) when the bathroom door swings open and Blaine walks out, wearing only a towel.  
  
A towel around his  _neck_ , that he’s using to dry his extremely curly hair, and Kurt can’t help but stare, because Blaine is... well, he’s not as cleanly muscular as Sam or Puck, and Kurt could do without the chest hair, but there is clear definition to Blaine’s arms and torso. He follows the sharp angles of Blaine’s hipbones  _down,_  and  _holy damn_ , maybe Kurt should have lubed himself up too, because if that’s what it looks like  _soft,_  then Kurt’s in for a hell of a night.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” Blaine says sheepishly, when he looks up from his furious towelling and notices Kurt staring. He slides the towel off his shoulders and wraps it around his hips. “Same-sex boarding school habits die hard, I guess.”  
  
Kurt makes a non-committal sound and smiles shakily as Blaine moves toward the bed.   
  
“Starting without me?” Blaine asks, voice low and dark, raising an eyebrow at the pile of clothing at Kurt’s feet. Without waiting for Kurt to answer, Blaine reaches out and strokes his fingertips gently along the waistband of Kurt’s underwear.  
  
Kurt jerks away from his touch. “Sorry, ticklish,” he lies, looking down and faking a laugh.  
  
“You’re lying,” Blaine says quietly.  
  
Kurt’s head snaps up. “What?”  
  
“I kept on thinking that I was imagining it,” Blaine continues. “And everyone who I talked to told me that I  _was_  imagining it, or that it was just wedding jitters, so it took me a while to figure it out.” He meets Kurt’s gaze squarely, and the room feels suddenly smaller. “You don’t want to do this, do you?”  
  
Kurt’s mouth opens, but something about Blaine’s expression kills the lie in his throat. “No,” he says instead.  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Blaine asks. He actually looks a little  _hurt_ , which is completely unfair because Blaine Anderson does not get to look like fate has just screwed him over, not when  _Kurt’s_  the one who essentially just became his fucking  _slave_  earlier today.   
  
“Like what?” Kurt retorts bitterly. “You think I did this because I  _wanted_  to? I’ve been planning my wedding since I was  _seven years old,_  Blaine, and believe me, what I just went through today was as far from what I  _wanted_  for my marriage as it could possibly be.” To his great embarrassment, he feels his eyes start to prickle. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says, pushing past Blaine, “I’m going take a shower now.”  
  
Blaine lets him go without a word.  
  
+++  
  
Standing under the hot spray of a truly fantastic shower system (in fact, the entire bathroom is amazing; Kurt’s pretty sure that there are whole apartments that could fit inside this bathroom), Kurt ponders how badly he has potentially messed this up for himself.  
  
 _Pretty badly,_  he decides. There are laws, of course, that would prevent Blaine from any sort of overt abuse, and the terms of Kurt’s contract also offer him some protection. But they don’t change the fact that Blaine now  _owns_  him.   
  
 _Oh my God, what if he makes me start buying all my clothes at **department stores?**_  
  
Kurt turns off the water. Well, he first had to get through tonight, and given what just happened in the bedroom, Kurt doesn’t anticipate a fun time for anyone. He sighs, and starts to towel himself off.  
  
+++  
  
When Kurt emerges from the bathroom, wrapped up in a fluffy robe, Blaine is still in his towel, sitting on the armchair next to the bed with a pair of glasses perched on his nose as he works on his laptop. His hair is even curlier now that it’s mostly dried, a few stray ringlets sagging down his forehead almost to his eyebrows. He has also, Kurt notices with reluctant approval, folded Kurt’s clothes and deposited them on a chair.   
  
Blaine looks up when he sees Kurt approach, closes his laptop, and stands up. “I have a proposition for you,” he says, as cool and detached as though they are discussing terms in a conference room, as opposed to being pretty much naked in what’s supposed to be their honeymoon suite.   
  
“You’ve made it very clear that you are dissatisfied with this... relationship, and I respect that. But,” Blaine says, and walks slowly toward Kurt. “I would like the opportunity to change your mind.” He takes Kurt’s hands into his own, gazing for a long moment at the ring that Kurt forgot to take off during his shower, before he continues, “I’d like to make love to you tonight. If I do anything you don’t like, you can tell me to stop, and I will. But other than that, you’re mine until morning.”  
  
Something about the way Blaine says “ _mine_ ” makes Kurt’s breath catch. He swallows hard, and asks, “What happens then?”  
  
“Then,” Blaine says, “if you still don’t believe that you can be happy with m – with this relationship, I’ll call my lawyers and break your contract. You can keep the money, of course.”  
  
For a long, silent moment, Kurt just stares at Blaine, searching every corner of his face for a sign that Blaine is messing with him, and not just because “the money” that Blaine’s cavalierly talking about is  _over half a million dollars_ . “Why would you do this?”  
  
Blaine drops his gaze, looking vulnerable for the first time since Kurt has known him. “I might not have been planning my dream wedding since I was seven, but I did have some expectations. This isn’t how I wanted my marriage to go either.”  
  
 _One night,_  Kurt thinks.  _I can handle one night._  “Deal,” he says, and shifts his right hand in Blaine’s, so that he can shake their hands.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine replies, all smiles again. “Now, I want you to take off your robe, and lie face-down on the bed.”  
  
Kurt takes a deep, slightly shaky breath, feeling suddenly lightheaded and very exposed as he takes the few steps toward the bed, fingers fumbling on the belt holding his robe in place. He’s uncomfortably aware of Blaine’s presence behind him and Blaine’s eyes on him as he stretches himself out, naked, on the mattress. He tucks his hands under a pillow, rests his head so that he is facing away from Blaine, and waits.  
  
He doesn’t hear Blaine’s approach; the thick, plush carpet muffling his footsteps. But he does feel the barest touch of lips on the back of his neck, right where it meets his shoulder. The lips are followed by soft hands that rub along the line of his shoulders, fingers fanning out and cupping each shoulder blade and stroking outward along Kurt’s arms, reaching down to his elbows before retreating back to his spine. It feels... nice. Blaine’s hands are warm and lightly calloused at the fingertips, and Kurt can feel himself relaxing under Blaine’s touch.   
  
Then Blaine starts pressing harder, kneading the muscles of Kurt’s back, and it starts feeling even better. Blaine seems to know just where Kurt needs the most attention, finding and unravelling spots of tension that Kurt didn’t even know he was carrying. He hisses when Blaine encounters a particularly stubborn knot, just below his ribcage, gritting his teeth through the pleasure-pain of Blaine’s hands working through the knot and gasping with relief when it releases.  
  
“You like that?” Blaine asks, and his voice is suddenly a lot closer than Kurt expects – when did Blaine get on the bed with him? But then Blaine begins a truly wonderful set of long, deep strokes along the length of his back, and Kurt has to quickly bite his lip to keep from moaning.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt replies, after a moment.  
  
Blaine kisses him again, on his left shoulder this time, and says, “Turn over.”  
  
Kurt does, and lets Blaine take his hands, guiding them over Kurt’s head and curling Kurt’s fingers around two of the vertical bars that make up the headboard.   
  
“Keep them there,” Blaine says, low and husky. His eyes have darkened, there is a definite flush to the tops of his cheekbones, and Kurt has to suppress a shiver at the  _heat_  in Blaine’s gaze.  
  
Kurt nods jerkily, and Blaine rewards him with a quick smile before his hands are back on Kurt, exploring his chest and belly with the same gentle thoroughness he did Kurt’s back. This time, Blaine follows his touches with his lips. He never stops moving long enough to actually kiss Kurt; instead, he just skims his open mouth across Kurt’s body, his hot breath heating Kurt’s skin in long ribbons that tingle in the cool air when Blaine moves on.  
  
His thumb brushes a nipple, and Kurt twitches involuntarily.  
  
“Sensitive?”  
  
“A little,” Kurt gasps, and jolts again when Blaine rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “Okay, maybe more than a little.”  
  
“So I see,” Blaine says with a mischievous smirk, and Kurt only has a second of warning before Blaine dips his head down and takes Kurt’s other nipple into his mouth.  
  
“Oh my God!” Kurt moans, gripping the headboard tightly as shudders wrack his body. He arches his back helplessly, wanting more of Blaine’s mouth, only to have Blaine pull away entirely, fingers and lips.  
  
“Sensitive nipples,” Blaine says, and licks his lips. “I’ll remember that.”  
  
Kurt glares at him.  _Great, my husband’s a fucking **tease** ,_  he thinks sourly.  
  
“Sorry,” Blaine says, and drops a swift kiss on Kurt’s abdomen.  
  
“No, you’re no –  _ahhh,_ ” Kurt moans again, as Blaine slides his tongue into Kurt’s navel.   
  
“No, I’m not,” Blaine agrees, and puts his tongue back in, swirling it slowly around the rim and thrusting it languidly in and out before moving on to press a hot, wet belt of kisses between one hip bone to the other. His hands are everywhere, warm and just callused enough to make Kurt shiver as they roam over his body in pattern-less circles.  
  
“God, you’re beautiful,” Blaine whispers against Kurt’s trembling belly, as his hands travel down Kurt’s hips to gently part his thighs. “I really want to blow you right now. Can I?”  
  
Kurt  _whimpers,_  and he tries futilely to keep his hips from bucking toward Blaine. He’s hard already; he’s actually been hard since Blaine turned him over, but this  _need_  that’s spreading through his body like an itch – that’s new, and unexpectedly exhilarating, and frustrating as hell.  
  
“Is that a ‘yes’?” Blaine asks, his innocent tone in sharp contrast with the way he’s touching Kurt’s erection through his boxer-briefs, squeezing the hard column and rubbing it in slow, firm strokes.  
  
 _Oh, that bastard._  “Yes, yes damn it, please suck my dick!” Kurt yells. He lets go of the bars and grabs the waistband of his uncomfortably tight underwear, and starts pulling it off. He’s barely managed to get the fabric down over his hips when Blaine’s hands intercept his, bringing them back up to grab on to the headboard again.  
  
“Hey, none of that,” Blaine scolds gently. “You’re mine tonight, remember? That means we go at my pace. I’ll get you there, don’t worry; you just need to be patient.”  
  
Kurt groans. He’s never been good at patience, especially not when what he wants is  _right there,_  all pink and soft-looking and glistening slightly from saliva. But Blaine’s gaze is steady, and they did have a deal. “Fine,” Kurt says reluctantly.  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine says with a smile, and slowly takes Kurt’s underwear the rest of the way off, Kurt hissing as the cotton drags over the sensitive head of his cock. Blaine tosses the underwear carelessly over his shoulder, and takes Kurt’s exposed erection into his hands, palming it and passing it from one hand to another, as though testing its heft and size. “You’ve got such a pretty cock,” Blaine murmurs, before he grips his hands around Kurt’s hips, bends his head, and sinks his mouth  _all. the. way. right. down._  
  
Kurt chokes on air, panting and gasping as Blaine goes to  _town_  on his dick, flattening his tongue against the shaft, sucking gently at the head, licking along the veins, and mouthing his balls. Blaine takes his time with Kurt, patiently seeking out the spots that are particularly sensitive and working them over and over before moving on to someplace new, until Kurt’s dizzy with need and writhing desperately against the sheets.  
  
He doesn’t even realize that Blaine inserted a finger into his mouth alongside Kurt’s cock until he feels wet, blunt pressure against his hole. Suddenly, the temperature of the room feels ten degrees cooler.  
  
“No, wait,” Kurt protests, as he twists under Blaine’s hands, trying to squirm away from his touch. “I’m not – I don’t know if I can do this.”  
  
Blaine sighs around Kurt’s cock and gives it a lingering parting suck before he pulls away, as though he’s reluctant to leave it. His mouth is red and swollen, and Kurt is momentarily distracted by the sheen of saliva and pre-come on Blaine’s bottom lip.  
  
“Kurt, I’m not going to force you to do something you’re not comfortable doing,” Blaine says. He’s flushed and breathing a little hard, but otherwise he looks as cool and collected as he always does. He bites his lip, notices that he’s got Kurt’s pre-come on it, and actually licks it off, all in a brief, absent-minded gesture that sends a jolt straight to Kurt’s still-rock-hard cock. “Have you done it before?”  
  
It takes a second for Kurt to register what Blaine just said (and to stop staring at Blaine’s pretty, perfect mouth). “Uh, no,” he replies, a little confused because Blaine should know that he’s a virgin; it says so on his contract.  
  
“I have,” Blaine says, simply and frankly, and not seductively at all. “It was incredible. I felt so full, and there was this spot inside me that was just—” He breaks off, his eyelids fluttering and his hips moving, like he’s feeling it happen all over again, and oh fuck, Blaine’s  _hard_  and leaking a little down his own cock. “I came  _so_  hard, Kurt, and even as I was coming, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to fuck me again.”  
  
Kurt inhales sharply, and is surprised by the sharp stab of jealousy that he feels at the knowledge that someone else already had his husband first.  
  
“I want to try that with you,” Blaine continues, his gaze open and hopeful. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop, I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”  
  
Kurt looks at him, considering. Blaine’s made a lot of promises tonight, and Kurt has chosen to take him on his word for every one of them. And he’d be lying if he said that he hasn’t been... curious as to what it’s like, and Blaine did promise to stop if Kurt ends up not liking it.  _Oh, what the hell,_  Kurt decides, and spreads his legs.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine says, and laughs a little in delighted relief, as though he wasn’t expecting Kurt to go for it at all. “I’ll be right back. Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone, all right?”  
  
Well, Kurt wasn’t planning on it, but now that Blaine has explicitly told him not to, he’s suddenly hyperaware of just how turned on he is, how his cock is still slightly damp from Blaine’s saliva, and how easy it would be to just reach down and get himself off. Would he still want Blaine to fuck him if he wasn’t hard anymore? Not that Kurt would be able to stop Blaine; he’s limp as a spaghetti noodle after orgasm. Blaine could just roll him over and thrust right in and start pounding him, and Kurt wouldn’t have the strength to do anything but  _moan,_  and okay, he needs to stop this train of thought  _right now_ .  
  
He decides to watch Blaine instead, admiring the lines of his back as he goes through the gift basket that had come with the suite. Despite his lack of height, Blaine’s actually pretty well-proportioned, with broad shoulders that taper into a trim waist and narrow hips. He’s got a really nice ass, too, and strong-looking legs. Blaine’s still hard, Kurt notices when Blaine turns around, holding what he assumes must be condoms and lube, and Kurt’s honestly not sure if it’s fear or anticipation that’s sending shivers down his spine.  
  
“Should I turn over?” Kurt asks, when Blaine sits back down on their bed.  
  
Blaine shakes his head, sending a few dark curls tumbling. “No, I want you like this for our first time. Just bend your knees, please.”  
  
Kurt nods, closes his eyes, and bends his knees back toward his chest. He takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heartbeat, feeling very naked and exposed. He hears the pop of the lube container lid, and a few seconds later, feels a finger press gently against his opening. The finger is slick, but not cold; Blaine must have warmed up the lube in his hands first.  
  
“Are you nervous?” Blaine murmurs. He’s not thrusting in, just sort of rubbing at the puckered rim in small, concentric circles.  
  
“Were you during your first time?” Kurt returns, his breath hitching a little when Blaine allows his fingertip to dip inside, just for a moment.  
  
“I was terrified,” Blaine confesses, and Kurt can hear the fondness in his voice. “The guy I was with had to make me come  _twice_  before I was loose enough for him to get inside without hurting me.” He stiffens his finger, and slowly begins to push in. “You’re a lot braver than I was.”  
  
It’s not painful or uncomfortable; there’s just pressure and the feeling of his inner walls giving as Blaine twists his finger back and forth to stretch him. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. “So where’s that awesome spo —  _ohhh, oh my God,_  Blaine!” he screams, eyes flying open.  
  
“It’s actually your prostate,” Blaine says, and Kurt’s hips jerk as Blaine presses against that spot again. “But sex-ed classes usually don’t tell you this part about what it can do. Do you like how it feels?”  
  
 _Do you always ask such stupid questions?_  Kurt wants to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is an embarrassingly high-pitched stream of “ahh, oh, oh shit, oh” as Blaine – oh God – adds a second finger and starts fucking him slowly and deeply, changing the angle on every thrust to stretch him more.  
  
“I think you have a more sensitive prostate than I do,” Blaine remarks, and if Kurt wasn’t too busy having his mind blown right now, he’d punch Blaine for still sounding so fucking _calm_ . “I think I’m jealous. Ready for a third finger?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt pants and spreads his legs shamelessly wider. The third finger burns a bit going in, but that somehow makes it even better, the pain bringing with it just enough sharpness to keep Kurt from getting lost in the fog of pleasure, to ensure that he can feel  _everything._  Which is probably the only reason Kurt actually registers the familiar coiling of heat that foretells his orgasm before it hits, and he just barely makes it in time, one hand squeezing the base of his cock while the other grabs Blaine’s wrist before he can thrust his fingers back in.  
  
“Kurt?”  
  
“Sorry,” he gasps. “I was too close.” He glances up at Blaine, who is staring down at him with wide, pupil-blown eyes. “Um, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to last, so if you want to fuck me, you should probably do it now.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine says, sounding breathless, and maybe he isn’t all that calm after all. “Okay.” His fingers shake a little as he rolls the condom onto his cock (definitely not that calm; Kurt thinks he likes that). He lifts Kurt’s right leg up, and drops a quick kiss to the back of his knee before slinging it over his shoulder, spreading Kurt open. “Ready?”  
  
Kurt nods wordlessly, and fists his hands into the sheets as Blaine enters him in slow, shallow thrusts that go a little deeper on every forward stroke. It does hurt a little, even though Kurt knows intellectually that Blaine’s not that much wider than three of his fingers. But the  _fullness_  – Kurt totally gets it now, what Blaine was talking about earlier, and Blaine was right: it does feel incredible.   
  
“I’m going to move now, okay?” Blaine says, when he’s balls-deep inside Kurt.  
  
“Okay,” Kurt manages to moan in return, and then Blaine’s pulling out only to thrust back in and it’s fucking  _glorious_ , the most amazing thing he’s ever felt, until Blaine changes the angle on his next thrust in and hits Kurt’s prostate dead-on, and Kurt’s crying out in shock and ecstasy as he  _comes_  harder than he’s ever come before.  
  
“Welcome back,” Blaine says, grinning, when Kurt opens his eyes again, so Kurt figures he must have blacked out for a bit. He’s still hard inside Kurt, and is fucking him at a slow, leisurely pace that’s making Kurt’s insides turn to jelly.  
  
“That was amazing,” Kurt says, still trying to catch his breath. And, because Blaine looks entirely too pleased with himself, adds, “And you weren’t too bad, either.”  
  
Blaine bursts into laughter, and rolls his hips on his next thrust in, grinding the head of his cock against Kurt’s prostate in a clear act of revenge.  
  
“Oh, ohhhh,  _Blaine,_ ” Kurt groans. It’s too soon, he’s still too sensitive, but he can’t summon up the energy to move away.  
  
“Too much?” Blaine asks, smirking as he does it  _again,_  because he’s an  _ass,_  and Kurt hates him so, so much.  
  
“I hate you so, so much,” Kurt tells him, his eyes sliding shut as Blaine keeps thrusting lazily into him.  
  
Blaine chuckles. “I disagree. I think there’s at least one part of you that doesn’t hate me at all.” He wraps a hand around Kurt’s cock, and Kurt opens his eyes in surprise to see that he’s actually  _getting hard_  again.  
  
“I think I’d like us to come together this time,” Blaine says, and starts jacking Kurt off in the same slow, lazy rhythm that he’s using to fuck Kurt.  
  
“Don’t – oh, don’t hold your breath,” Kurt says, tilting his hips up to meet Blaine’s on every stroke and making them both gasp. “I’ll be a while.”  
  
Blaine smiles, and gently rubs the sensitive spot right under the head of Kurt’s cock, his hips never stilling. “I can wait.”   
  
It feels surprisingly good to be fucked after he’s already come. With the immediate urgency of  _needorgasmnow_  gone, every burst of pleasure that Blaine elicits from his body is mellower, relaxing him instead of winding him up. He’s also more aware of other aspects of the sex, like how warm and hard Blaine feels inside him, and how Blaine likes to take his time when he pulls out, lingering with just the head of his cock inside Kurt for a moment to let Kurt’s muscles re-tighten a little before he thrusts back in, so that Kurt always feels the stretch.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asks quietly, with a particularly amazing twist of his hand on Kurt’s cock that temporarily shorts out his brain, which is the only reason why Kurt just blurts out,  
  
“You.”   
  
Which is just a little too honest and not what he meant to say at all, but then Blaine smiles like the sun coming out, leans in, and kisses him. The movement pushes Kurt’s uplifted leg back against his chest and changes the angle of Blaine’s cock inside him from good to  _wonderful,_  and Kurt’s hands come up to clench at Blaine’s shoulders as he shudders helplessly against Blaine’s body.   
  
Blaine kisses him hard and deep, pressing Kurt firmly against the pillows and licking Kurt’s lower lip until he opens up for Blaine’s tongue. And  _shit,_  if the blowjob earlier didn’t convince Kurt that Blaine’s good with his mouth, then he sure has confirmation now, as Blaine’s tongue pretty much  _invades_  the inside of Kurt’s mouth, rubbing against the roof of Kurt’s mouth and sliding sinuously against Kurt’s own tongue.  
  
It’s too much, too good, and Kurt realizes that he might have made a liar out of himself earlier, because he’s not going to be a while at all, not when he can already feel his muscles starting to spasm. “Blaine,” he gasps, so breathless that he can barely hear himself, “I’m – Blaine, I’m close.”  
  
“Me too,” Blaine rasps back, just as breathlessly. He removes his hand from Kurt’s dick (ignoring Kurt’s whimpers of protest) and lifts Kurt’s other leg from the bed onto his other shoulder, bending Kurt almost double as each thrust shoves Kurt’s thighs against his chest.   
  
“Oh, oh  _fuck,_  Blaine, harder,” Kurt begs, squirming desperately, his nails digging into Blaine’s shoulders. He can’t get any leverage to fuck himself against Blaine in this position; all he can get is what Blaine gives him, and the knowledge that he’s pretty much at Blaine’s mercy should not be getting him as hot as it is. “Blaine,  _please,_  I need to come.”  
  
“Not yet,” Blaine pants. “Wait for me.” He braces both of his hands on either side of Kurt’s head and  _pounds_  into him, hitting Kurt’s prostate on every single rough, unforgiving thrust of his hips.   
  
This time, Kurt’s orgasm doesn’t blindside him; he can feel it rush up from deep in his belly and spread through his limbs like liquid fire under his skin, making his fingers tingle and his toes curl. He opens his mouth, but all he manages is, “Blaine, I’m – I’m –” before he’s  _gone,_  come spattering his belly and Blaine’s as he clenches hard around Blaine’s cock, again and again and again.  
  
He’s still coming when Blaine pulls out of him with a shaky gasp (when did Blaine come? Kurt’s suddenly sorry he missed it), and Kurt whines piteously. “No, put it back, put it back in,” he pleads, because it  _aches_  to feel so empty after being full for so long. Another wave of aftershocks hits him, and he reaches down and shoves two fingers inside himself, just so that he would have  _something_  there.  
  
“Jesus  _fucking_  Christ,” he hears Blaine growl, and then his fingers are being yanked out and replaced with two shorter, thicker fingers – Blaine’s fingers, and when Blaine curls them to press against his prostate, Kurt almost feels like he’s coming again.   
  
It feels like forever before Kurt comes down from his orgasm, and he can breathe properly again. Blaine is a panting heap of dead weight along one side of his body, and if Kurt had enough brain cells left to do so, he would totally feel smug that he managed to wear out his partner on his virgin run.  
  
Well, so to speak.  
  
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Blaine mutters, half-muffled by the fact that his face is buried against Kurt’s arm.  
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” Kurt mumbles back, and smiles tiredly when he feels Blaine’s mouth curve against his skin.  
  
“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to get up and get something to clean us up with?” Blaine offers, looking at Kurt hopefully.  
  
Kurt tries to glare at his husband, but he suspects that he looks too exhausted and well-fucked for it to be really effective. “I’m going to claim just-got-fucked-in-the-ass- _twice_ privileges and nominate  _you_  for that duty.”  
  
Blaine pouts, which, combined with his lashes and curls, is kind of adorable. “You just made that up,” he accuses petulantly, but he gets up anyway. It takes a moment for him to remove, tie off, and toss the used condom, and then he’s trudging toward the bathroom.  
  
Kurt’s asleep before Blaine even gets to the bathroom door.  
  
+++  
  
 _In his dream, he’s at the McKinley prom – again – but this time, there’s no one else but him and his date, and the ceiling of the gym is covered in tiny stars that fall gently like snowflakes onto their heads and shoulders. They’re slow-dancing to Adele’s “One And Only.” His head is pillowed on his date’s shoulder, and his date’s arm is warm around his waist.  
  
When the song ends, he lifts his head from his date’s shoulder and smiles at him.  
  
Blaine, looking beautiful in a dark suit and tie, smiles back._  
  
+++  
  
Kurt opens his eyes slowly, the vestiges of the dream fading away like wisps of fog. It’s still dark out, and the light of the LCD alarm clock by the bed reads just after 5 am. There is a heavy arm around his waist and a warm body pressed all along his back. Kurt doesn’t feel sticky and gross, so Blaine must have made it back from the bathroom and cleaned them both up before passing out behind him. Kurt does, however, really need to pee. He gently removes Blaine’s arm and slides out of bed, wincing as certain parts of his body remind him fervently that yes, last night did actually happen. Kurt weathers the pain valiantly, refusing to walk with bowed legs even though the only other person who could possibly see him is dead asleep.  
  
He relieves himself quickly in the (magnificent) bathroom, and checks himself in the full-length mirror behind the door.  _God,_  he looks so  _used._  His skin is dotted with hickeys, especially around his nipples and hips. His thighs have faint red marks on them that probably match the size and shape of Blaine’s hands. His mouth still looks swollen and bruised, and given that every time he moves, he aches, he doesn’t even want to think about what his asshole must look like right now.   
  
He reaches back and fingers himself gently, hissing a little at the sting of even that light touch. It’s definitely swollen, and probably red, but it is fairly dry, which means that Blaine must have cleaned him  _there_  too. The thought of Blaine touching him like that when he was unconscious makes Kurt’s breath catch with unexpected arousal, and he probes his finger deeper, just to see... but no, the inside is slick with lube, so Blaine wasn’t  _that_  thorough, and God, the way he’s still loose enough that his middle finger can just  _slide_  in. It hurts, especially when Kurt adds a second finger, but it’s a  _good_  hurt, and he really hopes that his quality time with the lockers at McKinley hasn’t turned him into a masochist or something.   
  
Kurt moves his fingers in and out, mimicking what Blaine did to him earlier for a bit before he crooks them and presses his fingertips against his prostate. It doesn’t feel quite as good as when Blaine did it; maybe because he doesn’t have Blaine’s calluses, but it still makes him shudder and his hips roll into the touch. His moan is embarrassingly loud in the empty bathroom, and Kurt hopes that he didn’t wake up Blaine (and ruthlessly squashes a stray bit of fantasy about Blaine hearing him, coming into bathroom, and pulling out Kurt’s fingers to do it himself the way he did during Kurt’s second orgasm).   
  
He manages to get himself into the shower (he’s not coming on the  _floor;_  that would be both tacky and dangerous) before he’s fisting his cock desperately, pumping hard and fast the way he does when he needs to come quickly. He’s too wound up to work out a rhythm between the hand on his cock and the fingers in his ass, but it doesn’t matter – he’s crying out, sagging against the shower wall and doubling over as he spills over his fist and clenches spasmodically around his fingers.  
  
For a while, he just leans his overheated face against the cool tile of the shower and  _pants,_  trembling slightly as he pulls out his fingers. He can’t remember the last time he came this hard during a jerk-off session, especially such a short one – Kurt generally likes to take his time, teasing himself with light touches and letting the orgasm build and build for at least half an hour before he has to let it break. He’s never fingered himself while masturbating either; he’s fantasized about fucking and being fucked, but it had always been in a sort of abstract way. To be honest, he’d always thought anal sex was kind of gross, actually, given what that orifice is normally used for.  
  
Shit, is this how he’s going to be from now on, unable to have a good orgasm unless he’s getting his ass fucked? He’s going to have to stock up on sex toys – he wonders if Brittany and Santana can make any recommendations.  
  
When he feels like his legs will be able to support his weight again, Kurt gets up and turns on the shower. The water is hot and highly pressurized, and feels amazing on his skin. Kurt bends over, braces his hands on the opposite wall, and lets the spray pound the sore muscles of his back and thighs, breath hitching every time he feels water trickle between his legs onto his sore hole.   
  
He’s a bit lightheaded by the time he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, feeling loose-limbed and pleasantly fuzzy, like he’s a bit drunk. He wraps a fluffy towel around himself and staggers back into the bedroom.  
  
Blaine’s still asleep, though Kurt can tell that his absence has been noticed by the way Blaine has now wrapped himself around Kurt’s pillow, cuddling it against his chest. Kurt doesn’t understand how Blaine can just switch gears like that, going from a seductive, toppy, “you’ll come when I say when you can come” sex-god to this stupidly endearing, pillow-hugging man-child.   
  
Kurt sits down at the edge of the bed, and glances at the clock again. It’s 5:30. The sun will be up in a couple of hours, and the weirdest, most stressful (and most mind-blowingly _hot_ , a tiny voice in his head adds) night of his life will be over. In fact, it’s technically morning now, so Kurt would be well within his rights to just put on his robe and watch TV until Blaine wakes up and they can start discussing the contract.   
  
Blaine makes a soft sound, and Kurt looks down to see him open his eyes slowly and blearily. He blinks at Kurt for a moment, then looks around and seems to realize that he’s pretty much starfished over the entire bed.   
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles sleepily, releases Kurt’s pillow, and shuffles over to make room for Kurt, before his eyes slid shut again, and his breathing evens out.  
  
Kurt hesitates for a moment, before he sheds his towel and slides back into bed beside Blaine. It’s still early, and Kurt’s tired.  
  
+++  
  
 _This dream is weird. At least, it would be weird if Kurt were to remember it after he wakes, but he won’t. In his dream, he’s chasing a dark-haired boy through the empty halls of McKinley, the Lima Bean, Breadstix, and – for some reason – the GAP at the mall (which makes no sense, because Kurt hates the GAP; he’s only been there once, and that was because they were holding a two-for-one sale on scarves). He wants to shout at the boy to slow down, but as he opens his mouth, he realizes that he doesn’t know the guy’s name.  
  
Kurt finally catches up to him at the foot of a massive, spiralling staircase. He grips the boy’s sleeve, and spins him around.  
  
“Oh, there you are,” Blaine says, smiling. “I’ve been looking for you forever."_

__

__  


_ +++ _

  
He wakes up to the sound of something buzzing by his ear. It’s his cell phone; he’d forgotten that he’d put on the bedside table last night. He picks it up, and opens the text.  
  
 _punched in ur vcard yet? did the porn help? - puckzilla_ .  
  
Kurt blinks, wondering what Puck is doing up at a quarter past six in the morning.  _The porn DID NOT help,_  he texts back.  _Please never send me porn again._  
  
A few seconds later, Puck responds:  
  
................/´¯/)   
............../¯../   
............./..../   
....../´¯/'...'/´¯¯`•¸   
../'/..../..../......./¨¯\   
('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...')   
.\\.................'...../   
...''...\\.......... _.•´   
....\\..............(   
......\\.............\\...  _– puckzilla_  
  
Kurt giggles, shuts off his phone, and turns back toward Blaine. He’s still sleeping, sprawled out on his back this time, with most of the blankets kicked off so that he’s pretty much on display from the knees up. Kurt rests his chin in his hand and just  _looks_  at Blaine for a bit, taking advantage of the opportunity to observe him without worrying about Blaine observing him back.   
  
Blaine’s not male-model gorgeous; he doesn’t have the kind of exquisitely fine features and chiselled bone structure that usually makes Kurt’s breath catch. But Kurt has to admit that Blaine has his own appeal. There is something classically handsome about his face, like it wouldn’t look out of place alongside Marlon Brando or Cary Grant on the silver screen. Kurt inspects the cleanly masculine lines of Blaine’s nose and jaw, his gaze lingering on his extravagantly long eyelashes and the lush pout of his mouth. He can’t help a little shiver as he remembers what those pink, full lips are capable of doing to him, and he has to look somewhere else.  
  
Blaine is built on a stockier frame than Kurt’s willowy litheness, with a surprising amount of muscle in his chest and arms. He knows that Blaine plays cello and guitar, and that he was on the fencing team when he was in high school; maybe that’s where he got it from? Either way, it explains how he’s able to lift Kurt so easily.   
  
Something red on Blaine’s shoulder catches Kurt’s attention, and he leans in for a closer look. There are four parallel lines of scratch marks on the meaty part of Blaine’s shoulder, and Kurt feels a sudden frisson of arousal when he realizes that they were made by Kurt’s fingernails, from last night, when he was seconds from orgasm and begging for release.   
  
Kurt swallows hard, and forces himself to move on.  
  
The chest hair still bugs him a little, though he has to admit that the friction of Blaine’s hair against Kurt’s cock last night had been... interesting, to say the least. Blaine’s nipples are flat and a dusky pink-brown, and Kurt really, really wants to touch them, just to see if they’re as sensitive as his own. He reaches out and gently rubs the one closest to him, tracing the little nub with the pad of his thumb.  
  
Blaine squirms a bit, but doesn’t otherwise react. That would be a no, then.  
  
Kurt shrugs and moves his hand lower, skimming over the ripples of his abdomen and following the trail of surprisingly soft hair that narrows as it passes Blaine’s navel, until it joins the dark thatch of pubic hair above Blaine’s cock.  
  
It’s a nice cock, not that Kurt has seen many other cocks with which to compare Blaine’s. He likes the color contrast between it and Kurt’s paler skin, and the way it feels thicker and more vein-y than his own. The size of it is less intimidating than it was last night, now that Kurt’s had it inside him and knows that, not only does it fit, it fits  _great_ . Kurt strokes it firmly, from base to tip, feeling it stiffen under his touch and feeling his own cock hardening in response. God, he’s still so sore; he knows that he can’t possibly take it again, even as he shudders at the delicious memory of being fucked and filled by that thick, hard shaft.  
  
 _Really, Kurt Hummel, since when are you such a slut? You were a virgin like, eight hours ago,_  an inner voice chides him. It sounds a lot like Rachel Berry, though, so Kurt feels no guilt in giving it a mental middle finger.  
  
Blaine’s fully hard now, and there’s already a bit of precome beading at the tip. Kurt licks his lips – he’s tasted his own semen, of course, but no one else’s. He’s  _curious_ , and it’s right  _there_  in front of him, and all he has to do is bend his head down and open his mouth, and it’s not until the taste hits his tongue that his eyes fly open, because  _what the hell is he doing?!_  
  
Kurt jerks back, horrified. He was just  _looking_  – how the hell did that almost turn into a  _blowjob?_  Shit, this whole thing with Blaine has seriously messed him up, and he should – he needs to just get up, put some damned clothes on, and –  
  
“Kurt?”  
  
Kurt’s head snaps up and he stares – eyes wide and heart racing – at Blaine, who is clearly awake and  _clearly_  aroused, and something of how Kurt’s feeling must show up on his face, because Blaine’s expression suddenly softens and he says, gently, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know.”  
  
God, Kurt didn’t think it was possible to look hopeful and resigned at the same time, but he swears that’s how Blaine looks now. Blaine’s dick is still  _right there_  in front of him, all hard and perfect and bobbing slightly in time with Blaine’s breaths, and Kurt doesn’t  _have_  to, but he’s kind of slowly becoming aware of the possibility that he might really, really _want_  to, and oh fuck, maybe he really is becoming a slut, because he’s bending his head down again.  
  
It doesn’t taste... bad, exactly; it’ll never be appealing, but Kurt’s pretty sure that bodily fluids aren’t supposed to be. Blaine’s come tastes pretty much like Kurt’s come, actually – a little less bitter, maybe, and a bit saltier? He probes his tongue into the slit, so that he can catch the drops of precome as soon as they ooze from Blaine’s cock, and he feels Blaine’s thighs tremble underneath him.   
  
He looks up. Blaine has propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at Kurt with wide, lust-darkened eyes, his breaths coming in shallow pants. Without taking his eyes off Blaine’s, he lowers his mouth over the head of Blaine’s cock.   
  
“Oh God,” Blaine moans as he shudders, his head rolling back and his eyelids fluttering shut. “Please don’t stop.”  
  
Kurt shudders too, incredibly turned on by both the smooth slide of Blaine’s dick over his tongue, and the knowledge that he (Kurt Hummel, long-time fantasizer, first time doer) just made Blaine  _beg._  It’s surprising how enjoyable this is; in porn, it never looked like the person doing the fellating is having very much fun. But now that he’s here, tucked between Blaine’s parted legs, it’s easy to just close his eyes and let his senses take in the heat of Blaine’s body and the spicy musk of his skin. Kurt remembers enough from his research online (because he might not have had any takers until Blaine came along, but that didn’t mean that Kurt was going to be uninformed and unprepared) to fold his lips over his teeth; he takes a deep breath, and sinks his head down.  
  
He’s never given a blowjob, so he doesn’t really know what he’s, but judging from the sounds that are coming from Blaine’s mouth and the way his hips keep making these aborted upward movements, like he’s fighting to keep from thrusting up into Kurt’s mouth – it doesn’t seem like Blaine minds Kurt’s inexperience very much. He slides his head up, then down again, then back up, slowly, tonguing the shaft on its way out of his mouth, until only the head is still inside. He licks the smooth tip for a moment, then tightens his lips and gives it a clumsy, experimental suck.  
  
“Oh,  _fuck!_ ” is the only warning Kurt gets before Blaine’s hips surge, shoving his cock deep into Kurt’s mouth, deeper than Kurt is expecting or is ready for, and his gag reflex kicks in the second he feels Blaine’s dick hit the back of his throat. Kurt gasps, his eyes watering and his throat convulsing as he tries to suck in air around the flesh filling his entire mouth.  
  
Dimly, he feels Blaine pull out and babble, “Oh my God, Kurt, I’m so, so sorry,” and Kurt opens his mouth to tell him that it’s okay, that he’s fine, only to have it come out as a high, breathless moan that sounds shockingly wanton, even to him.  
  
Wide-eyed, Kurt lifts his head up just in time to see the tail end of “sorry” die in Blaine’s throat and his face morph from panicked concern to slack-jawed surprise. Kurt stares wordlessly at him, heart pounding and chest heaving as burning waves of arousal pulse through his blood. It’s not – Kurt’s not  _like_  this, he’s not the kind of guy that gets hot from choking on dick, but you wouldn’t know that from the raging boner he’s currently sporting. He squirms a little, which makes Blaine’s gaze flicker down to his groin, eyes getting even wider when he sees how hard Kurt is.   
  
Kurt swallows thickly. He can still taste Blaine on his tongue. His lips feel chapped, and he licks them. Blaine’s eyes track the movement, so Kurt does it again, more slowly this time, and he watches Blaine’s lips part in a quick, barely audible gasp. It makes Kurt feel powerful, that he can make Blaine react with such a small gesture (and should it be strange that this turns him on as much as being held down and fucked?), like he’s back in his high school’s Glee club and rocking a Broadway diva solo better than most of the girls while dancing better than most of the boys.   
  
He glances down, sees that Blaine’s gone half-hard, and frowns. Kurt Hummel-Anderson (fuck what his marriage certificate says, he’ll hyphenate in his head if he wants to) is not a man who starts something and leaves it unfinished. He takes a deep breath, and sucks Blaine’s cock back into his mouth, holding Blaine’s hips down with his hands this time to avoid a repeat of the earlier unpleasantness.  
  
It’s a good thing he did, too, because Blaine just about  _screams_  and shudders violently even as Kurt presses him back down. Kurt works him over sloppily, hoping that his enthusiasm will make up for his lack of any real technique. He tries to replicate some of the tricks that Blaine used on him last night, and is pleased to learn that while licking the pattern of veins that run up the shaft doesn’t do as much for Blaine as it does for Kurt, mouthing and sucking on the head drives Blaine fucking  _wild._  
  
“Kurt, Kurt – oh God, oh my God,” Blaine moans shakily, as Kurt tries swirling his tongue in figure-eights around the slit, and Kurt can feel Blaine’s thighs tensing as he fights valiantly against thrusting into Kurt’s mouth.  
  
It’s sweet, that he’s trying so hard, but Kurt suddenly wants something more. He slides one of his hands from Blaine’s hips to cup his ass (which feels every bit as good as it looks) and pull it up toward his face, while his other hand grips the shaft of Blaine’s cock and holds it steady as he bobs his head up and down. It takes a few seconds for Blaine to get the hint, but then he groans and starts to move his hips, fucking Kurt’s mouth gently at first, then – when Kurt pulls harder on his ass – going harder and deeper, until he’s almost hitting the back of Kurt’s throat again.  
  
But Kurt’s ready for it this time, and that must make all the difference, because the pressure of Blaine’s cockhead on the back of his throat is suddenly intensely hot instead of scary, and Kurt moans, rutting helplessly on the sheets below him as he sucks Blaine harder, which makes Blaine fuck his face harder, which makes Kurt moan more, until Kurt’s drowning in a wonderful feedback loop of lust. He’s so lost in it, that he doesn’t even hear Blaine telling him to stop until Blaine actually pulls Kurt’s head away, making Kurt whine at the loss.  
  
“Turn around,” Blaine says. He looks  _wrecked_ , hair a mess and his face shining with sweat. “No, not turn  _over,_ ” he corrects, when Kurt rolls onto his back, “turn so that you’re facing away from me. I want to sixty-nine you.”  
  
It takes a moment for Kurt to make the connection between the number, what it looks like, and the images he’s seen in porn, and then he’s scrambling to get himself into position, looking over his shoulder as he moves to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally kick Blaine in the face. Blaine’s hands close around Kurt’s ankles and pull his legs toward him, then slide up his calves to grip his thighs, arranging them so that Kurt’s straddling Blaine’s face.   
  
“Can’t get over how  _gorgeous_  you are,” Blaine murmurs against the skin of Kurt’s inner thigh, and it probably says something about Kurt’s latent self-esteem issues that the compliment turns him on almost as much as Blaine taking his balls into his mouth.  
  
Kurt muffles his groan in the damp, warm skin of Blaine’s hip, before he goes down on Blaine again. He tries to set up a rhythm, but he keeps on getting distracted by Blaine’s rough hands and rougher tongue and gloriously hot mouth, and eventually, he stops trying to suck and just bobs his head over Blaine’s erection, letting his cock fill his mouth again and again. He feels more than hears Blaine moan when he takes Blaine’s cock deep, the vibrations raising gooseflesh all along Kurt’s limbs.   
  
He whimpers when he feels Blaine rub a finger over his opening, and rocks himself back on it when Blaine does it again.   
  
“Let me see you,” Blaine says hoarsely, tilting Kurt’s hips down and spreading his ass with his hands, and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut at the thought of Blaine  _looking_  at him _there_  and seeing how used and fucked out he is.   
  
“It’s so red,” Blaine says, sounding almost awed as he runs his thumbs over the tender rim. “It didn’t look this red last night – God, you must be so sore.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Kurt lies shakily, gripping the sheets and biting down the urge to confess it’s only this red because he had two fingers in there an hour ago, because apparently, getting fucked twice in one night isn’t enough for Kurt Hummel anymore.   
  
“I want to do something – please don’t freak out,” Blaine says, breath warm and moist against Kurt’s hole, and before Kurt can even begin to panic (because really, that’s the normal thing to do when someone tells you not to freak out), there’s slick, wet,  _hot_  pressure on him as Blaine’s  _tongue_  –  
  
“Oh, oh, oh my God, oh that’s – that’s so – oh God,” Kurt’s babbling, he knows he’s babbling, but he can’t – he knows what he wants to say, but the signal keeps getting lost between his brain. It’s like every swipe of Blaine’s tongue hits a direct line to Kurt’s cock, and  _oh_ , he’s totally rutting against Blaine’s chest right now and he doesn’t even  _care_ .  
  
“Jesus, you’re so hot for it,” Blaine mutters, and then his tongue  _fucks_  into Kurt, thrusting in and swirling around before pulling back out. “God, you’re still wet inside,” he adds before he does it again.  
  
Kurt keens, arching his back to get Blaine’s tongue deeper, until he can feel the rasp of Blaine’s stubble against his ass. Blaine’s next thrust nearly makes Kurt’s arms give out, but it’s still not enough – not deep enough or big enough, and Kurt just needs  _more._  
  
“Fuck me,” he begs brokenly. “Blaine, fuck me, please.”  
  
Blaine pulls his tongue out of Kurt’s ass long enough to pant, “I thought I was,” before he goes back in with an obscenely wet sound that makes Kurt’s gut clench.  
  
“No, I mean fuck me with –” God, he can’t even  _say_  it, what’s wrong with him? “ – with your cock. Please, Blaine.”  
  
Blaine groans like he’s dying, and he places a wet, sloppy kiss in the dip of Kurt’s lower back. “I can’t, Kurt. You’re too sore.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Kurt insists, even though he knows that Blaine’s probably right, and he’ll probably regret it later when he can’t walk, but right now, he just  _wants._  “Just… go slow, and use your fingers first.”  
  
“But –”  
  
Kurt growls in frustration and glares over his shoulder at Blaine, who looks uncertain. “Your dick isn’t going to break me, Anderson. Just do it.”  
  
Blaine stares at him for a moment in surprise, then starts to chuckle. “Okay, okay, let me up, though.” He sits up and slides out from underneath Kurt, pushing Kurt’s legs down until Kurt’s face-down on the bed with Blaine’s knees pressed against the backs of Kurt’s thighs, keeping them spread. “You have to let me know if it hurts,” Blaine says firmly.  
  
Kurt nods mutely, and closes his eyes. He hears Blaine lube up his fingers, and then the first one’s pressing slowly and carefully into him.   
  
“Okay?” Blaine murmurs.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt replies without opening his eyes. It stings, but not enough to make Kurt want to stop. “Keep going.”  
  
Blaine keeps going, rotating his finger in tight circles as his other hand kneads the flesh of Kurt’s ass. It’s weird how new this feels, even though this is already the third time Kurt’s been fingered. But he’d been preoccupied the first two times, either with nervousness or desperation; this time, he can really let himself focus on every twist and thrust of Blaine’s finger.   
  
“Can I tell you something?” Blaine asks quietly, when his finger is moving easily and smoothly in and out of Kurt’s ass.  
  
“Is it that you’re going to add more fingers? Because I’d really like to hear you say that.”  
  
Blaine laughs, and slips in a second finger alongside the first. “In my junior year, our schools – I went to Dalton Academy – were supposed to meet up for show choir Sectionals. Your glee club even sent over a spy –”  
  
“We didn’t  _send_  her, she went on her own!” Kurt retorts, rolling his eyes. “She was feeling unappreciated, and when Rachel Berry feels unappreciated, she does stuff like this. She didn’t even tell me she was going, or I would have given her a more convincing outfit.” Kurt huffs, remembering Rachel’s too-large double-breasted navy blazer with the glued-on red felt trim, horribly ill-fitting khaki trousers, and  _sunglasses._  
  
“She really was a terrible spy,” Blaine agrees, before continuing, “But anyway, we thought it would only be fair for us to check you guys out too. So we went on YouTube – does New Directions always record performances?”  
  
“That’s –  _oh_ ,” Kurt says, pausing to gasp when Blaine strokes over his prostate. “That was another one of Rachel’s ideas. Were you impressed?”  
  
“Extremely,” Blaine says, still moving his fingers languidly in and out of Kurt’s body. “The guys couldn’t stop talking about your friend Rachel, or those two amazing dancers, or the girl who could give Aretha a run for her money.”  
  
“That’s Mercedes,” Kurt says with a proud smile.  
  
“I, however, must admit that I couldn’t take my eyes off another member New Directions: a gorgeous guy with a flawless countertenor, who wore the skinniest jeans I’d ever seen.”  
  
Kurt’s smile falters. He opens his eyes. “Really?” he asks, cautiously. He can feel his heart rate start to speed up in a way that has nothing to do with the wet slide of Blaine’s fingers.  
  
“Yeah.” Blaine’s voice is hushed, like he’s confessing a grand secret. “I sort of became a little obsessed with him. I watched all the New Directions performances, and then looked up his solo work, including the one when he was a cheerleader – God, I jerked off to that one for  _weeks_ .”  
  
Eyebrow raised, Kurt twists his upper body so that he’s leaning his weight on one elbow, and can look over his shoulder at Blaine. “Did you, now?” he asks cheekily, grinning when Blaine blushes.  
  
“Quit interrupting me,” Blaine says and gently pushes Kurt back down onto his front. “But it wasn’t just about how incredibly good-looking you were; you also had this  _voice_  that was simply incredible. It was like I could see into your heart every time you sang. I was blown away, Kurt, by how  _moving_  you are – I watched “Rose’s Turn” and I was in  _tears_ by the end. I was dying to go to Sectionals, so I could meet you in person, but you weren’t there.”  
  
“My dad got sick,” Kurt says. That had been the beginning of the final stretch, for Burt Hummel. Kurt feels the familiar stinging in his eyes whenever he has to talk about his dad, and he stubbornly blinks them away.  
  
“I know,” Blaine says, his voice soft and sincere. “I asked your teacher, and he told me that you had a family emergency. I was incredibly disappointed, especially when you stopped showing up in the New Directions performances after that.”  
  
Kurt says nothing. His friends had all understood, and they’d all stayed his friends afterward, but it had still hurt to give up Glee. He didn’t regret it, though, not when it meant he could spend more time with his dad.  
  
“I still thought about you,” Blaine continues. “I’d re-watch your performances from time to time. ‘Defying Gravity’ was my favorite, and I really liked ‘Le Jazz Hot.’ I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, though. And then, last month, when my parents finally decided to enforce their ‘married by twenty’ rule and sent over a packet of candidate files, I saw your name on the list.  
  
“I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even open your information package; I just called my parents and my lawyer and told them I’d made my choice. My dad wasn’t happy; he thought there were far better candidates in the pile, but my mom took my side, so I put in an offer right away.”  
  
Kurt remembers that, how surprised the agency was when he’d gotten an offer mere days after he put himself on the market. At that time, he’d reacted with more dread than relief, though.  
  
Blaine’s fingers are still inside him. Kurt pulls himself off, and Blaine lets him go, watching silently as Kurt turns and faces him. Blaine’s expression is guarded, his eyes dark and unreadable.  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” Kurt asks.  
  
“Because we need to discuss the contract,” Blaine replies. “It is morning, and I don’t want to wait any longer for your answer.”   
  
The intensity of Blaine’s gaze is making Kurt uncomfortable. “You couldn’t wait until you finished fucking me first?” he asks, trying for a bit of levity.  
  
“No,” Blaine says. “If this is the last time I’m going to be allowed to make love to you, I’d like to know in advance, so I can make it last.”  
  
Kurt sighs, and looks away. He already knows his answer; he’s known it since he agreed to this deal in the first place. But now that it’s finally time, it no longer seems quite as appealing an option as it did last night. Still, Blaine has a right to know. He meets Blaine’s eyes again, and reaches up to wind his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. “Make it last,” he says, and kisses him.  
  
For a moment, Blaine is frozen and unresponsive against him, and Kurt is briefly afraid that Blaine is going to push him away. But then he feels Blaine’s arms go around him, and the world suddenly tips as Blaine flips Kurt onto his back, Blaine’s weight pinning Kurt’s body to the mattress and Blaine’s mouth hot and fierce against his own.   
  
Kurt moans at the hunger in Blaine’s kiss, and he arches into it, spreading his legs and planting his feet flat against the mattress to give himself more leverage. He moans again when their erections rub against each other, and he wraps his legs around Blaine’s waist so that he can just rock their hips together. Kurt had been on edge for a while before this, and he can already feel his orgasm starting to build. He doesn’t want it to be over so quickly, but he can’t seem to be able to stop moving his hips.  
  
It takes pretty much everything he has to rip his mouth away from Blaine’s long enough to beg, “Please, now,” before he has to kiss Blaine again, but Blaine seems to get the message, because Kurt can hear the crinkling of a condom wrapper opening. Then Blaine pushes a hand down on the bed and hauls himself upright, taking Kurt with him until he’s straddling Blaine’s lap. Kurt feels the head of Blaine’s cock against his entrance, and he grinds back down on it, whining, desperate to have it in him.   
  
But Blaine doesn’t thrust. He presses the tip in –  _only_  the tip – and just holds it there, and it’s such an awful tease that Kurt almost screams.   
  
“ _B-Blaine,_ ” Kurt stutters; he’s shaking so badly that his teeth are chattering. “Blaine, come on, just  _do_  it.”  
  
“I – I didn’t s-stretch you enough,” Blaine gasps out, hands gripping Kurt’s hips to keep him from fucking himself on Blaine’s cock, and Kurt honestly, legitimately,  _hates_  Blaine right now. “It’ll hurt.”  
  
“I don’t care!” Kurt snarls. He yanks Blaine’s hands off his hips (he’ll have scratch marks there later), braces his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, and just pushes himself straight down.   
  
“ _Fuck!”_  someone yells, and Kurt’s not sure if it was him or Blaine, because shit, shit,  _shit,_  it  _hurts,_  and he totally did it too fast, and Christ, he’s going to be  _so_  sore later.   
  
Kurt screws his eyes shut and buries his face against Blaine’s neck as he waits, breathing as deeply and steadily as he can, for the burn to subside. He feels Blaine’s arms shift and wrap themselves around Kurt, rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes.   
  
“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Blaine admonishes gently, after a while. “You’re too impatient.”  
  
“I prefer the term ‘goal-oriented,’” Kurt replies loftily, making Blaine chuckle. Kurt shifts his hips experimentally, and sighs in relief at the lack of an accompanying flare of pain. He does it again, using his knees to lift himself up a bit, and then back down, gasping quietly when Blaine’s cock bumps his prostate.  
  
Kurt does this a few more times, moving carefully, and then Blaine joins in. Kurt’s weight on top of him means that Blaine can’t do much more than rock his hips, so he cups Kurt’s ass instead, to pull Kurt further onto Blaine’s cock on every stroke. It feels strangely intimate like this, being so close to Blaine that they’re practically breathing the same air, so close that Kurt can count Blaine’s eyelashes.  
  
A particularly well-placed thrust sends Kurt’s head lolling back and makes him moan. When he gathers himself again, he notices that Blaine’s  _looking_  at him – not hungrily or lustfully, but still with a deep, focused intensity that sends a shiver through Kurt’s body. It’s like Blaine is trying to memorize him, and it makes Kurt wonder if Blaine had looked at him last night, while he was cleaning Kurt, the way he had looked at Blaine earlier this morning.  
  
“What would you do if there was no contract?” Kurt knows that this is probably not an appropriate question to ask, but he’s suddenly curious. “If you just saw me at the mall, or something?”  
  
Blaine doesn’t seem offended. “I’d probably make a fool of myself,” he says, a small, wistfully fond smile tugging at his lips. “I’d chase you through the various stores and receive angry looks from all the people I would push out of my way in order to get to you.”  
  
Kurt snorts at the image of polite, gentlemanly Blaine shoving anybody out of the way.  
  
“Then, provided you don’t think I’m a crazy stalker and call security, I’d probably ask you out for coffee,” Blaine continues. He slides an arm between them to palm Kurt’s cock, making him sigh pleasurably and sag against Blaine’s chest. “Or maybe dinner, whereupon I’d ply you with lavish compliments about your fashion sense and beautiful voice, and maybe beg for a possible duet sometime. And then, if I manage to be sufficiently enchanting that you’re willing to come home with me, we could cuddle on the couch and watch movies. You’d like my apartment: I’ve got a fifty-inch plasma TV and every musical ever filmed.”  
  
Kurt smiles, charmed and amused by Blaine’s story. “Do you have  _Moulin Rouge_ ?”   
  
“On DVD and Blu-Ray,” Blaine replies proudly. “But we wouldn’t watch that one – I tend to cry like a little girl at the end of it, and I don’t want you to see that. Maybe something like  _Sound of Music_  instead.”  
  
“And afterward?”  
  
“I’d get you a cab, give you my number, and then after you leave, I’d wait anxiously by the phone for you to call.”  
  
Kurt grins coyly. “What, no sex?”  
  
“Mr. Hummel,” Blaine gasps, sounding scandalized, “I don’t know what kind of boy  _you_  are, but I’m not the kind who puts out on the first date!”  
  
Kurt lifts an eyebrow and pointedly looks down between their bodies. When Blaine just shrugs and smirks at him, Kurt sniffs and says, in the haughtiest tones he can manage, “Well, that sounds like the most  _boring_  first date ever. Seriously, if all I wanted was movies and a cuddle, I’d go to Mercedes.”  
  
Blaine pulls back and  _looks_  at him, raising his eyebrows slowly as surprise, indignation, and amusement flit across his face. “I see,” he murmurs, after a moment. “Well, if you’re in the mood for something a little  _dirtier,_ ” punctuating the last word with a sharp upward thrust that catches Kurt off guard and knocks a gasp out of him, “I do have a little something in my closet that I’ve wanted to try for a  _long_  time now.”  
  
“And what would that be?” Kurt asks, trying not to shiver as a new wave of arousal curls hotly in his belly.  
  
“It’s a spreader bar,” Blaine says with a slow, dark smile. “Three feet of black-painted steel, with leather ankle cuffs on both ends.” His voice is pitched so low Kurt swears he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “I’ve always fantasized about pushing a guy face-down onto my bed, strapping him in, and using my toys on him.”  
  
“R-really?” Kurt stutters breathlessly, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably.  
  
“I’ve got quite a collection, you know,” Blaine continues, seemingly oblivious to the way Kurt is practically hyperventilating on his lap. “I’d probably have to tie his hands to the headboard to keep him from moving too much, maybe gag him if he gets too loud. Oh, and put a cock ring on him, of course; I’d want to fuck him after I finish with the toys, and I wouldn’t want him to come before then.”  
  
 _Jesus **fuck** ,_  Kurt can feel his eyes rolling back into his head as he shudders, mind utterly bombarded with images of himself lying bound and forcibly spread wide on Blaine’s bed, helpless to do anything but just  _take it_  as Blaine works him over with dildos and vibrators, completely ignoring Kurt’s sobs and broken promises that he’ll do anything – he’ll let  _Blaine_  do anything if Blaine would just finish him off. God, he’d be so loose afterward too, that Blaine would just be able to slide in, no stretching needed, and Kurt would be so _grateful,_  because it would mean he’d  _finally_  get to come.  
  
He’s so lost in his lust-haze that he doesn’t even realize he’s been fucking himself on Blaine’s cock until Blaine grabs his hips and says, “Kurt, slow down or this will be over in like, a minute.”  
  
“Then why are we stopping?” Kurt demands as he writhes against Blaine’s body, fighting against Blaine’s hold.  
  
But Blaine just tightens his grip on Kurt’s hips, keeping him still. “Hey,” he says, and presses their foreheads together so that he can look Kurt in the eyes. “We’re making this one last, remember?”  
  
Kurt groans – he’s so glad he’s breaking up with Blaine after this, because Blaine’s clearly a  _sadist_  (he ignores the way his brain immediately rejects that thought even as he’s thinking it). A part of him feels guilty about the idea that suddenly springs to mind, because he knows that Blaine wants this one to last, and – to be honest – Kurt wants it too, but he’s been hard ever since he woke up this morning, and he’s so close and just so  _desperate._  He sends a mental apology to Blaine, then leans in so that his mouth is right up against Blaine’s.  
  
“I’d let you do it to me,” he whispers against Blaine’s lips. He feels Blaine jerk underneath him and hears him suck in a harsh breath. “Everything you just said, I’d let you do it all. In fact, I’d probably beg you to do it. You could gag me, but I’d still try to beg through the gag.” He pauses for a second to breathe, heart racing and limbs trembling because he _means_  it, God, he means every word he’s saying. “And even when you’ve finally let me come, I’d just beg you to do it all over again.”  
  
Blaine shudders all over, and lets out this  _moan_  that sounds so broken that Kurt pulls back to make sure that Blaine’s okay. “ _Kurt,_ ” Blaine says. He looks utterly ruined: face red, blotchy, and dripping with sweat; his pupils so blown that there’s hardly any hazel left, and Kurt suddenly wants to see Blaine come apart, wants to be the one to  _make_  Blaine come apart.  
  
He puts his hands on Blaine’s chest and pushes Blaine back, until he’s lying on the pile of pillows at the head of their bed, and Kurt’s lying on top of him. “I want to ride you,” Kurt says, and starts to move again. The angle’s not quite right; Blaine’s cock barely brushes Kurt’s sweet spot, but he likes it better this way: it lets him focus on Blaine’s reactions, the way he stops breathing when Kurt tightens around him on every upstroke, and the way his hands spasm on Kurt’s hips at the wet skin-on-skin slap their bodies make each time Kurt pushes himself back down.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine says again, hoarsely. Kurt can feel him trying to thrust his hips up to match Kurt’s movements, and he shakes his head.  
  
“It’s my turn to do the work this time,” he says, and he’s proud of how steady his voice is. “Just tell me what you like, okay?”  
  
Blaine nods jerkily, swallowing hard. “My neck. Kiss my neck right under my jaw.” He tilts his head, exposing the long, smooth column of his throat, and Kurt couldn’t ask for a better invitation.  
  
Kurt has to spread his legs wider in order to lean down, and they both groan when it makes Blaine’s cock go even deeper inside of Kurt. He rests his forearms on either side of Blaine’s head, and smiles briefly down at him before he bends his head and drops a kiss on the spot where Blaine’s jaw meets his neck. “Here?” he murmurs against Blaine’s skin.  
  
“N-no,” Blaine answers shakily. “A little lower – oh,  _right there!_ ” His back arches when Kurt moves his mouth lower, and he lolls his head back against the pillows to give Kurt better access.  
  
The skin of Blaine’s neck is wonderfully soft, with just a hint of incoming stubble around his jawline. Kurt worships it shamelessly, alternating between soft, barely-there lip presses and wetter, dirtier suction kisses, as Blaine moans and shudders. He accidentally scrapes his teeth across the rapidly reddening skin, and Blaine practically  _dies_  under him.  
  
“Kurt, oh God – again, do that again, please,” Blaine begs, driving his hips up in jagged, unsteady thrusts, like he can’t help himself, like he’s desperate for it.  
  
Kurt seals his mouth over Blaine’s neck and  _sucks,_  all tongue and teeth and way too much spit, and it’s probably the clumsiest and sloppiest thing Kurt’s ever done in his life, but he doesn’t care, not when Blaine’s clutching him like’s the only thing keeping Blaine from falling apart. He can  _feel_  it when Blaine starts to come, the way every muscle in his body stiffens and his moans go silent. Kurt tears his mouth away just in time to watch Blaine’s face as climax rushes over him. He’s always thought that orgasm faces are the silliest things in the world, but he must not have been watching the right kind of porn, because Blaine – his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slack, his face flushed with two points of color high in his cheekbones – looks nothing short of breathtaking.  
  
Kurt holds Blaine through the aftershocks, feeling pleased and proud as he murmurs soft, nonsensical things against Blaine’s hair. He’s just about to reach down and finish himself off when Blaine suddenly surges up and flips Kurt over, pulling out abruptly and sliding down Kurt’s body. Kurt barely has time to gasp, “Hey, wait –” before Blaine has three fingers back inside his ass and Kurt’s achingly hard cock in his mouth.   
  
Blaine works him over at a dizzying pace, sucking vigorously and swallowing deep, fingers rough and merciless against Kurt’s prostate. He can feel himself losing it, spiralling too quickly toward oblivion, but he’s already too wound up to even consider slowing down. He doesn’t even have time to shout a warning to Blaine that he’s close before his orgasm hits, sending waves of electricity dancing across his limbs as he comes in Blaine’s mouth in long spurts that go on for what feels like forever.  
  
Blaine’s patient with him, carefully swallowing every drop and then licking him clean, until Kurt squirms from oversensitivity. They’re both disgustingly sweaty, and Kurt doesn’t even want to think about how gross he must smell, but he goes willingly when Blaine tugs him into his arms and tucks Kurt’s head under his chin.   
  
Kurt’s already starting to ache as the adrenaline and endorphins fade from his bloodstream, but he feels too relaxed and satisfied to really care. This can’t possibly be normal, Kurt thinks, almost absently. Sex can’t possibly always be this amazing, because then nobody would ever stop having it long enough to do anything else. He wonders if it’s because Blaine is just  _that good_ , or if he’s just become addicted to sex the way he’s also addicted to bargain-hunting and coffee.   
  
“Are you all right?” Blaine murmurs, pulling Kurt from his thoughts. “Not too sore?”  
  
Kurt stretches his legs experimentally. “Well, I won’t be running any marathons in the near future, but I’ll live. You?”   
  
Blaine grins sleepily down at him. “As long as I don’t have to move anytime soon.”

  


Which, of course, is when someone knocks on the door.  _“Mr. Anderson?”_

  
Blaine’s eyes go comically wide as dismay floods his expression. “Not it,” he says firmly.  
  
Kurt gasps indignantly. “Okay,  _one,_  you jinxed us. Also, ‘Mr. Anderson’? I’m pretty sure that’s for  _you._ ”  
  
“Hey, until you sign the cancellation papers,  _you’re_  officially Mr. Anderson too. And besides,” Blaine adds, a whine seeping into his voice. “I got up last time.” He scoots down so that he’s eye-level with Kurt, and gives him the most unfairly adorable pout Kurt has ever seen, complete with puppy-dog eyes and clasped hands. “Please, Kurt?”  
  
Kurt glares ferociously. “How  _old_  are you?” he snaps, even as he feels himself weakening. He sighs. “Fine, but you owe me.”  
  
Blaine smiles incandescently in response. “Thank you,” he says sweetly.  
  
 _Dick,_  Kurt thinks grumpily as he drags himself out of bed, running his hands through his hair to at least make it somewhat presentable. He’s about to kneel to pick up his robe, then changes his mind and bends at the waist instead and scoops it up by his fingertips. It’s worth the sharp flare of pain to hear Blaine’s choked-off gasp from behind him. Smirking, Kurt slides the robe over his shoulders, ties it loosely around his waist, and limps carefully to the door.   
  
The person on the other side of the door is a young woman, a hotel employee judging by her uniform, holding a large Fedex envelope. “Hello, package for...” her bubbly voice fades as she gets a good look at Kurt, her eyes growing round as saucers as they move down his body until she catches herself and snaps them right back to his face. “Package for Mr. Anderson,” she says, face flaming.  
  
Kurt looks down, and immediately blushes as he realizes that his robe is pretty much open to the waist, leaving his heavily-marked torso in open view. Deciding that to close his robe now would just add to his humiliation, Kurt takes the envelope, and with great dignity, says, “Thank you. I’d tip you, but...”  
  
“Oh no, that’s all right,” the woman says quickly. She sneaks a glance over at the bed, where Blaine is probably laughing his ass off, and gives Kurt a conspiratorial wink. “Congratulations.” Then she turns on her impressively spiked heel and walks away.  
  
Blaine has a pillow in his lap and is giggling into it as Kurt slowly makes his way back to the bed. Kurt throws the envelope at him, and scowls when Blaine’s hand flies up and catches it neatly. “Dalton Intramural Ultimate Frisbee House Champion,” he says, by way of explanation.  
  
“Good for you,” Kurt says sarcastically, wincing a little as he lowers himself back onto the bed. “What is it, anyway?”  
  
“It’s... oh.” Blaine takes out a stapled sheaf of papers from the envelope. “I didn’t think it would be done this quickly.” He hands the papers to Kurt; he’s not smiling anymore, and his expression is suddenly completely closed off.  
  
Kurt looks down, reads the title on the front page. “Oh,” he echoes quietly.   
  
He rapidly scans the text, gaze lingering over words like “annulment” and “dissolution.” On the second page, listed under personal gifts, is the full monetary value of Kurt’s contract, ready to be wired into Kurt’s bank account (he’d have to set up a new one; all his current accounts are under Finn’s name now).  
  
Most of the remaining three pages don’t really interest Kurt, except for the inventory of Kurt’s pathetically small cache of assets that are now exclusively his again, and the statement that “permits” him to have “sexual congress” with other people ( _gee thanks,_  he thinks sarcastically).   
  
The last page contains two names, his and Blaine’s, with blank horizontal lines above them for their signatures. Below them is the lawyer’s notarization, as well as the date when this document was created.  
  
Kurt glances at the date, and then does a double-take. “That’s  _today_ ,” Kurt exclaims. “Wait, how did you get it made up so fast? When did you even have time to contact your lawyer?”  
  
Blaine gets up and puts on his robe. “I emailed her when you were in the shower last night.”  
  
Kurt stares at him. “But that was before – you knew the deal wasn’t going to work?”  
  
“I’m not so arrogant to think that one night would be enough to convince you to spend the rest of your life with me, no,” Blaine says calmly. Fully dressed (albeit in a bathrobe), he looks like the Blaine from last night again: the composed and collected man who negotiated for Kurt’s wedding night like he was making a business deal.   
  
But Kurt thinks that he knows Blaine a little better now; he can see the slight tremble in Blaine’s hands, and the way Blaine can’t quite meet Kurt’s eyes. “But you couldn’t have known that I would agree to your proposition,” Kurt points out. “What if I’d said ‘no’ last night?”  
  
“Well, then I would have spent the night on the couch and we would still be having the same conversation that we are now,” Blaine says with a shrug.   
  
“But why didn’t you just  _tell_  me that?” Kurt presses, feeling a little bit annoyed now that most of the shock has receded, because it could have all been  _over_  last night, and he would never have had to – had to... “Why did you even bother offering that deal in the first place?”  
  
Blaine sighs, his eyes flicking to Kurt for the first time since he opened the envelope. “Well,” he says, a faint, almost pained-looking smile ghosting on his lips, “I had to try.”  
  
It’s only for an instant, but Kurt thinks he sees a glint of...  _something_  in Blaine’s eyes, something dark and deep that Kurt recognizes, but can’t quite identify. Whatever it is, though, it makes Kurt’s heartbeat quicken in response, and he suddenly  _needs_  to know. “Blaine, why are you doing this for me?”  
  
Blaine’s head lifts up and he looks at Kurt directly. “I thought we already talked about this last night: you don’t want to be married to me, so I’m not going to – ”  
  
“No, not why you’re doing  _this,_ ” Kurt interrupts impatiently. “Why  _me?_  Why are you doing this for  _me?_ ”  
  
Blaine smiles at him again, more genuinely this time, though still with the same undercurrent of sadness. “I told you – I like you, and I want you to be happy. And since you’re not going to be happy in this relationship – ”  
  
“But that’s just it,” Kurt interrupts again. “We don’t have a  _relationship,_  we have a business transaction. You bought me. I’m your property – are you really telling me that my _happiness_  is worth you spending over half a million dollars?”  
  
“Okay, first of all, it’s my parents’ money, of which they have far more than they’ll ever know what to do with, anyway,” Blaine replies. “But yes, I think your happiness is worth that.” He tilts his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “Don’t you?”  
  
Kurt tenses, and he looks away hastily. “Of course I do,” he says with a scoff. “But you don’t even know me.”  
  
For a few seconds, Blaine is silent and still. Then, he makes his way around the bed and sits down beside Kurt, angling his body so that they’re facing each other. “I know that it must have been hard, being out in a place like Lima,” he says quietly. “Just because we can legally get married now doesn’t mean that people are any more accepting than they were before. But you never tried to hide who you were or tried to change yourself because it might have been easier or safer to not be different.” He takes Kurt’s hands, cradling them in his own, and he waits for Kurt to meet his eyes before he continues, “A lot of people may not understand how much strength and courage that must have taken, but I do, and I can’t tell you how much I admire you for it.”  
  
Kurt studies him for a long moment, taking in Blaine’s hushed, urgent voice and his heartbreakingly earnest expression. Then he leans in and kisses Blaine on the lips.  
  
He feels Blaine’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek as Blaine blinks twice in surprise, then once more as he closes his eyes and kisses Kurt back. Their mouths glide smoothly over each other, almost chastely, neither making a move to deepen the kiss. Blaine’s lips are soft and wonderfully hot, and Kurt imagines he can feel their heat sinking deep into his body, warming parts of him that he didn’t even know were cold.   
  
But then Blaine is pulling himself away, releasing Kurt’s hands and murmuring quiet apologies when Kurt instinctively tries to chase his lips. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says, red-cheeked and avoiding Kurt’s gaze. “There’s a second bathroom attached to the sitting room if you want to shower too. Oh, and you can leave the documents on the desk once you’re finished; I’ll take care of the rest.”  
  
Kurt nods, not quite trusting his voice yet. He watches in silence, as Blaine gathers his towel, his underwear, pants, and white shirt, and heads to the ensuite.  
  
At the doorway, Blaine pauses and turns back around, eyes glued to the floor. “At the risk of sounding cliché,” he says, softly, almost hesitantly, “I had a wonderful time last night. Thank you.” He gives Kurt a quick, sad smile and – without waiting for Kurt’s response – ducks into the bathroom, and shuts the door.  
  
Kurt looks at the closed door for a couple more seconds. Then he drops his head in his hands. “ _Damn_  it,” he says feelingly, to the empty room, his mind reeling with countless  _if onlys:_  if only he had met Blaine two years ago, when he could have really used someone like Blaine in his life; if only he had never met Blaine at all, and had been sold instead to an unexceptional stranger to whom Kurt could have been completely indifferent; if only his dad hadn’t died; if only Kurt was the kind of person who could be happy belonging to someone.   
  
But even as he thinks it, Kurt knows that the last one would never happen – to use a cheesy analogy, Kurt Hummel will never choose the life of a caged bird, no matter how beautiful and sweet and fantastic in bed the cage may be.  
  
He sighs, and stands up. Holding the envelope in one hand, he walks slowly to the desk and rummages through the drawers until he finds a pen. The signing process itself is surprisingly quick and painless: a flick of the wrist and a long scrawl of blue ink on white paper, and it’s done. He’s halfway to freedom.  
  
 _I should take the ring off,_  he thinks. The contract didn’t say that he had to, but he knows that it’s the right thing to do. He reaches for his left hand and begins to work the ring off his finger. It’s more difficult than he expects, especially considering how easily Blaine had slipped it on him the day before (has it really only been one day? He feels like weeks have passed). It’s as though the metal has somehow shrunk and molded itself to his finger, clinging to his skin and digging painfully into his flesh as he tries to drag it over a knuckle.  
  
For one brief moment, Kurt contemplates just keeping it. He’s pretty sure Blaine’s not planning on reusing this ring at his next wedding – he hopes not, anyway, because that would just be tacky. And besides, what are the chances that Blaine’s next husband will even have the same ring size as Kurt?  
  
But then he remembers the matching band on Blaine’s finger, and he knows that he has to give it back. Wedding rings are meant to represent that the wearers are now two halves of a whole, Kurt remembers someone saying (not his dad... one of his friends, maybe? It sounds like something Rachel would say), and Kurt isn’t one half of anything, not anymore.  
  
He sucks his finger into his mouth and lubricates it with his own saliva. This time, when he twists the ring upward, it pops off the knuckle and tumbles into his palm. Kurt looks at it, the metal warmed to body temperature and sitting innocently on his hand: a narrow platinum band with two thin ribbons of yellow and rose gold embedded in its surface, simple and elegant.   
  
This gesture shouldn’t feel more final than signing the contract termination papers, but it does.  
  
He places the ring on top of his signature, and heads off to the other bathroom.  
  
+++  
  
The second bathroom is smaller, but still every bit as awesome as the one in the ensuite. Kurt turns the shower on full, makes it hotter than he usually takes it, and gets in. For a few minutes, he just lets the water numb and soothe some of the aches in his body, before he takes the hotel’s complimentary bar of soap and lathers himself up (wishing, not for the first time, that he’d thought to bring an overnight bag – he highly doubts this soap is pH-balanced, and he’s going to have to do  _so_  much damage control when he gets home). He scrubs away the dried semen on his belly, and winces when the hard soap comes into contact with an area on his side that feels oddly tender.  
  
Kurt wipes away the lather and looks down. There are five reddish marks on both his hips, clearly visible on his pale skin, though not quite dark enough to be considered bruises. Kurt examines them for a moment, then brings his left hand across to his right hip and carefully covers each mark with one of his fingers, shivering despite the heat at how perfectly they line up. Then he presses down hard, and gasps at the sharp burst of pain and arousal that flares up from the pressure.  
  
Feeling suddenly a little weak-kneed, Kurt staggers to the wall of the shower and leans his weight against the smooth tiles. He can’t help but wonder if Blaine is doing the same thing on his end (the epic hickey Kurt left on his neck, the nail marks on his shoulders), and he shudders again as his brain helpfully supplies images of Blaine, naked and heat-flushed, with water sluicing down the lean planes of his body.  
  
 _Stop,_  he tells himself firmly, before his overactive imagination can jump from Blaine in the shower to  _fucking_  Blaine in the shower (God, their height difference would be perfectly suited for this, Kurt being tall enough to really thrust up into Blaine, but not so tall that he’d have to crouch down, and he’d be at just the right angle to suck on Blaine’s neck – no, _stop it_ ).  
  
 _He’s not yours anymore,_  he thinks, and it’s strange how much that idea bothers him, since it’s not like Blaine ever belonged to  _him_  anyway, even when they  _were_  still married. Besides, he reminds himself, Blaine wasn’t the one who’d wanted to end this.  
  
Kurt sighs, pushes himself off the wall, and begins to wash his hair. He wonders if Blaine will want to keep in touch after today, if Kurt even wants Blaine to keep in touch. They’ve probably got a lot in common, and Blaine seems like the kind of guy who’d be a great friend, but Kurt doesn’t know how awkward that would be, considering they’ve already slept together. And what would happen when Blaine inevitably remarries (which probably wouldn’t take very long at all, Kurt thinks sourly, because Blaine is pretty much Prince fucking Charming)?   
  
His mind conjures up this ridiculous image of Blaine introducing Kurt to his new husband (who’s probably almost as perfect as Blaine himself), Kurt shaking his hand and smiling and trying not to blurt out something like, “Hi, I’m Kurt; I sucked your husband’s dick.”  
  
 _Okay, this is just pathetic._  He’s not getting jealous of his ex-husband’s as-of-yet non-existent new spouse. Except, of course, for the part where he totally  _is,_  and even he knows that this If-I-can’t-have-you-no-one-can mentality is unhealthy, unfair to Blaine, and just plain greedy.  
  
This shower is depressing him. He should get out.  
  
He skips the “and repeat” part of his usual hair-washing regimen, and finishes his shower as quickly as he can. He dries his hair briskly using the hairdryer hanging from a hook by the sink, not bothering to try for any particular style; his hair is well-trained, it cooperates.  
  
+++  
  
Blaine’s still in his bathroom when Kurt returns to the bedroom; he can hear the shower running. Kurt dresses, wishing he had something other than his wedding tux to change into. He shrugs on the jacket, but leaves off the red tie and rose boutonniere. He puts his wallet into one of his jacket pockets, his cell phone in the other, and walks around the room to make sure that he hasn’t forgotten anything.  
  
The bed is an utter mess: half the covers have tumbled to the carpet, and there are pillows strewn everywhere. The sheets probably still reek of sweat and sex, and the thought makes Kurt shiver even as he hastily moves away. He goes instead to the desk, where the termination papers still lie, with the last page facing up. Kurt traces his fingers over the lines and loops that make up his name. Then he picks up the ring, turns it over a few times, and puts it back down.  
  
He waits for the urge to grab a pen and scratch out his signature and slide his ring back on, but it doesn’t come, so he knows that he did the right thing.  
  
Kurt sighs and looks around the room, feeling awkward and out of place. It’s probably really crass to just walk out, but he’s pretty sure that Blaine doesn’t need to be taking that long in the shower, and waiting to say goodbye in person seems... impolite, somehow, when Blaine so considerately set it up so that they wouldn’t have to.  
  
Still, he should at least leave like, a note or something. There’s a pad of hotel stationary on the desk. Kurt tears off a sheet, bends over the desk, and starts writing. He goes through five sheets of paper and five variations of  _Dear Blaine_  before he gives up on a greeting altogether.  
  
 _First of all,_  Kurt writes,  _thank you for letting me go. I’m keeping it simple because I don’t think I have the vocabulary to fully express just how grateful I am.  
  
Secondly, I’m really sorry. But the thing you need to understand, Blaine, is that it’s not you, it’s the contract.  **You**  are amazing. In fact, you’re so perfect that I’m not entirely sure how you’re real, because I don’t think men like you are supposed to exist outside of Disney movies. It’s just that I can’t be anyone’s slave, Blaine. And the fact that I know you’d never actually treat me like a slave doesn’t change that._  
  
Kurt lifts his pen, and straightens. He can just stop there, add a  _goodbye, have a nice life,_  and walk out of here as Kurt Hummel again, single and fabulous and ready to take on the world.   
  
Or he can hope that whatever benevolent force of nature it was that handed him a guy like Blaine Anderson in the first place is still sticking around.  
  
He bites his lip and bends down again.  
  
 _Also, I know that you like me. I wish I could say the same about you, but the truth is, I honestly don’t know yet. You seem to know all these things about me (and we need to talk about who your sources are, because I refuse to believe that you got all that just from watching me sing) but I only met you a couple of weeks ago, and we didn’t even have a real conversation until last night. And like you said, one night of mind-blowing sex isn’t enough to convince me to spend the rest of my life with you._  
  
Kurt pauses and takes a deep, long breath. His heart is racing, and he has to grip the pen hard to keep it steady.  _But I’d **like**  to know you better,_  he continues.  _I’d like to ask you to dinner tonight, if you’re free. We can talk, see if we have anything in common besides our mutual love for movie-musicals, and go from there. What do you think?_  
  
He writes down his cell phone number, printing the digits carefully. He hesitates over how to close the letter; “love” would be presumptuous, “sincerely” is too formal, and “yours” would just be hypocritical. He’s still making up his mind when he hears Blaine’s shower stop, and he’s faced with the sudden and panicked realization that he really, really does not want to be there when Blaine reads his letter.  
  
He just scribbles his name on the bottom of the paper, and runs out the door as quickly as his body will allow. He’s not proud.  
  
(Clearly, when Blaine said that he admired Kurt for his courage, he had  _no idea_  what he was talking about.)  
  
Kurt has too much dignity to actually stand outside with his face pressed against the door (which is too thick for him to hear anything through it, anyway) and goes around the corner instead. He can hear his blood pounding in his ears, and his hands are visibly trembling as they hold his phone.  
  
He opens up a clock app and counts the seconds it would take for Blaine to get dressed: three seconds per sleeve, another five to do up the buttons, six to slide his pants on. He allocates one hundred and eighty seconds for hair care, overestimating in case Blaine decides to go for the blow dryer.   
  
Four minutes and counting, and Blaine should definitely be out of the bathroom by now. Kurt can imagine him walking around the empty room – much like Kurt did earlier, his gaze lingering on Kurt’s discarded robe and their dishevelled bed, before finally going to the desk. He pictures Blaine looking at his signature, the pen strokes starkly navy against the white paper. Next, he would probably run a finger along the rim of Kurt’s ring, maybe pick it up and hold it alongside its twin on his hand. In his mind’s eye, Blaine looks lonely and oddly small, as though sadness has diminished him.   
  
And then Blaine would notice see the letter.  
  
Kurt closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe slowly, so that he doesn’t end up hyperventilating in the hallway of a hotel. He can see it so clearly: the furrow of Blaine’s brow as he starts reading, the way his expression softens when he gets to the line where Kurt pretty much calls him a Disney prince, the slow sigh of resignation at Kurt explaining to him why he had to leave, which morphs into a soft “o” of surprise when he reads the part where Kurt asks him out.   
  
For an agonizingly long moment, Blaine just stands there, feet rooted to the floor as he re-reads the same two sentences over and over.  
  
Then he suddenly springs to action. He sprints over to where his jacket is draped over a chair, impatience making his fingers clumsy as he fumbles through it for his phone until it tumbles out of a pocket. He nearly drops the phone before he even turns it on, and it takes him three tries to punch in Kurt’s number correctly because the adrenaline surging through his blood is making his hands shake. But finally, finally, he gets it right, and he presses  _send,_  and then he just holds his breath as it starts ringing on Kurt’s end, and Kurt takes out his phone and sees—  
  
Nothing.  
  
The screen is dark. A quick check of his recent calling activity reveals no missed calls. The most recent incoming message was over four hours ago, the text from Puck.  
  
Kurt takes in a sharp, harsh gasp of air, not realizing until that moment that he was holding his breath too. He inhales again, shakier this time as his throat closes up and his eyes prickle warningly. He turns his head until his face is pressed up against the wall. Kurt sags against it, swallowing hard and squeezing his eyes shut tight as he counts the seconds: ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty.  
  
Fifty-six seconds later, Kurt opens his eyes and straightens up again. He pushes off the wall and heads toward the elevator, eyes fixed on the screen of his phone. It takes him eleven seconds to reach the elevator door, and another eight for the elevator to  _ding_  as it reaches his floor. He stands there, holding the elevator with his finger on the button, for another two minutes. Then he steps inside.  
  
He keeps watching the screen until the elevator doors close, and his bars go from four, down to three, then two, one, until finally, the signal is lost altogether.  
  
+++  
  
The elevator ride, which had felt so short when he and Blaine were going up last night, feels interminable now. Kurt digs out his earbuds from an inner pocket of his jacket, plugs them into his phone, and pulls up his Barbara Streisand playlist. He puts it on shuffle, then leans his head back against the elevator wall and closes his eyes as a slow, sad, jazzy piano-plus-brass intro trickles sweetly into his ears.  
  
He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised; after all, if their situations were reversed and Blaine had asked him out minutes after divorcing him, he’d think that Blaine was messing with his head. And maybe it was unrealistic of him to assume that Blaine actually had genuine  _feelings_  for him, since they really barely know each other. Besides, Kurt’s had enough experience with unrequited crushes to know that this is all just temporary. It will go away soon enough. It always did before.  
  
The intro ends, and Barbara’s rich, dulcet voice starts to sing:  
  
 _The night is bitter,  
The stars have lost their glitter;  
The winds grow colder  
And suddenly you're older -- _  
  
Kurt yanks out his earbuds and glares balefully at his phone.  _Et tu, Barbara?_  he thinks, feeling irrationally betrayed.  
  
The elevator  _dings_  again. The doors open to reveal the opulent lobby, and beyond that, the bright Ohio morning. It’s looking to be a beautiful day. Kurt steps out.   
  
He should actually be grateful that this happened, he thinks. Not only does he now have the best how-I-lost-my-virginity story out of everyone he knows, he’s also free, and financially comfortable enough to both go back to college and pay off his dad’s medical bills so that Finn and Carole won’t lose the house. And really, it’s not like he’s in  _love_  with Blaine, after all.  
  
He’s about halfway across the lobby when his phone starts to buzz. It keeps buzzing even as he pulls it out of his pocket, and when he looks at his screen, he can see why: someone, an Ohio number that he doesn’t recognize, has left him six text messages. And even as he moves to open up one of them, his phone buzzes again, announcing a _seventh_  text from the same number.  
  
Intrigued, Kurt scrolls down and taps the earliest text.  
  
 _To KURT (10:32 AM) : I’m not perfect._  
  
Kurt blinks, confused. He keeps walking though, merely raising an eyebrow as he opens up the next message.  
  
 _To KURT (10:32 AM): I’m pretty oblivious to other people’s feelings, I always think I’m right, and I tend to say and do things without thinking them through first. I’m also kind of a coward, which is why I’m texting you instead of calling you._  
  
 _To KURT (10:33 AM): But I do like you. That part’s completely true._  
  
Kurt stops dead in his tracks. “No way,” he whispers, and again, “No way,” even as other parts of him start to sing  _yes yes oh please yes_ . He takes a deep breath, readies himself, and opens the next text.  
  
 _To KURT (10:33 AM): I’m Blaine, by the way, in case you’re wondering who this is._   
  
He doesn’t actually whoop for joy in the middle of a hotel lobby, but it’s a damned close thing. Grinning stupidly, he taps open the remaining messages.  
  
 _To KURT (10:34 AM): Also, my parents called, and they’re kind of angry with you right now, sorry. I did explain your situation, but they weren’t very understanding. They say that if I want to re-marry you without a contract, you’ll have to sign a pre-nup._  
  
 _To KURT (10:34 AM): Wow, I just got way ahead of myself on that last text, didn’t I? I’m really sorry. I did tell you that I don’t think before I open my mouth – or move my fingers, in this case. Please don’t change your mind about having dinner with me._  
  
 _To KURT (10:35 AM): Oh, I haven’t said yes yet. Sorry, I probably should have done that first. YES, I’d LOVE to have dinner with you tonight. Do you have a place in mind? If not, I know this great sushi place that I think you’ll love._  
  
Kurt’s honestly not sure how his face has not yet split in half from all the grinning he’s doing. He feels suddenly weightless, like someone has replaced all the air in his lungs with helium, and it makes him lightheaded and giddy, and he’s so  _happy_  right now that he almost aches from it.  
  
He quickly saves Blaine’s number into his contacts, and replies,  _Sushi sounds lovely. Pick me up at 7pm?_  He hesitates, then decides that if there ever was a day when Kurt should be pushing his luck, today is  _definitely_  that day, and adds,  _We can go to your place afterwards and watch a movie. I’ll bring an overnight bag. ;)_  
  
Blaine’s response is gratifyingly quick:  _7pm it is! Although I must confess that I lied to you earlier: I am TOTALLY the kind of boy who puts out on the first date. :)_  
  
Kurt bursts into loud, delighted laughter. He’s notices that the other people in the lobby are giving him odd looks, and he’s pretty sure his freakishly wide grin just made that small child over by the registration desk hide behind her mother, but he doesn’t care. Kurt Hummel is going to get laid tonight by the sexiest man this side of the Atlantic, and all the haters in the world can go cry him a fucking river.  
  
He shoots back a coy,  _Duly noted,_  and continues his way toward the main entrance of the hotel. He needs to get home ASAP and fill his family in on what has happened. He needs to call his girls and gush about last night until they’re both squealing with joy and seething with envy. Most importantly, though, he needs to get to his closet so that he can start planning his date outfit. What  _do_  you wear when you’re going on a first date with a man who you already know is maybe, possibly (oh, who’s he kidding –  _definitely_ ) the man of your dreams?  
  
 _Duh, McQueen,_  he answers himself, as he pushes open the door. Today is already shaping up to be the best day ever, and he hasn’t even had breakfast yet.   
  
 _My life is **awesome,**_  Kurt thinks, and smiling, steps into the morning sun.  
  
+++  
  
 _That night, Kurt dreams again. It’s a dream that he has from time to time, one that began the year his father started getting really sick. It’s also one of the few that he can sort of remember when he wakes up. The dream always goes like this:  
  
He’s walking through McKinley High. It’s a school day, so the halls are crowded, but no one talks to him or even looks at him. Kurt doesn’t mind, though (it’s probably safer like this, anyway), until he bumps into someone and instead of hitting them, he  **passes straight through.**  
  
That’s when the fear crawls in.   
  
Kurt sprints down the hall, grabbing at anything and anyone he sees, the fear turning into full-blown, panicked terror when his hands pass through: people, lockers, doors, **walls**. He sees Mercedes, laughing arm-in-arm with Tina, and he runs to them, but they walk right by him without seeming to know that he’s there.   
  
He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. Not only that, but  **all**  sound is gone – all except the sound of his heartbeat, which thuds ominously in his chest, faster and faster. He keeps screaming, silently straining his vocal chords again and again, until he’s dizzy from lack of oxygen.   
  
Finally, he just falls to his knees in the middle of the hallway, sobbing silently, hollowed out by despair.   
  
It’s usually at this point that he wonders how his feet are still standing on the floor, since he’s passing through everything else. Then the floor drops out from under him.  
  
And just as he’s about to fall, dark oblivion ready swallow him whole, someone grabs him and  **pulls,**  and then sound comes rushing back, the floor is firm again, and Kurt is completely, blessedly solid again.   
  
Profoundly and infinitely grateful, Kurt looks up to thank his rescuer, and that’s when the dream ends.  
  
He never remembers the person’s face upon waking up, only managing to retain the faintest impressions of kind eyes and a sweet smile. There was a time when he almost thought the person was Finn, but even when Kurt was madly in love with him, Finn never quite... fit. For one thing, Kurt kept on getting the feeling that the person was  **shorter** than him.  
  
This time, though, the dream is different. This time, when Kurt looks up, he sees a boy, with dark hair, warm brown eyes, and the loveliest smile Kurt’s ever seen.  
  
He speaks. “My name’s –”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt finishes softly. He feels like he should be more surprised by this, but he’s not.  
  
Blaine’s smile widens. “Kurt.”  
  
And then he wakes up._  
  
+END+

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	2. Cinderella's Prince, One Minute After Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts from HKHGM, from Blaine's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift-fic for the delightful aspiringtoeloquence.

Blaine doesn’t turn off the shower until his skin starts to go pruney, and takes twice as much time as he usually does to dry himself off and towel his hair. He dresses slowly, carefully, fingers lingering over every button. His hair he leaves alone; no amount of time would do it any good anyway, since he doesn’t have his gel with him. He even brushes his teeth with the hotel’s complimentary toothbrush and toothpaste.

Before he opens the door, he looks at himself in the mirror one last time. “You did the right thing,” he tells his reflection. “You can’t _make_ someone love you.”

His reflection sighs, and nods resignedly.

The hotel room is empty, and even though Blaine knew that would be the case, had taken twenty extra minutes in the shower to ensure that that would be the case, it still sends a sting of disappointment through his chest. He looks around. The bed is a wreck, of course. It probably still smells like them. Blaine looks away from it.

A flash of red catches his eye. Kurt left behind his tie and boutonniere in a little neat pile on one of the chairs. Blaine picks up the rose, feeling a little like Cinderella’s prince must have felt, a minute after midnight.

He shakes his head at his own romantic fantasies. “Aren’t you a bit too old for that, Blaine?” he murmurs to himself.

Blaine puts the rose down and heads for the desk. He sees the glint of metal before he even reaches the desk, so he knows what’s coming. Of course Kurt signed it. If he didn’t, he would have stayed.

He picks up Kurt’s ring and slips it on the pinky finger of his left hand so that it rests beside his own. He’s not sure what to do with the rings; he doesn’t want to return them, but it’s not like he can keep them, either – what’s he going to do with a matching set rings? 

Blaine sighs. Maybe he’ll give them to his sister for when she gets married.

There’s a note beside the ring, and Blaine picks it up. He glances down at the bottom, sees Kurt’s scrawled signature, then goes back to the beginning and starts to read.

The first thing Kurt does is thank him, which does a lot to quell the little voice in Blaine’s head that’s still berating him for letting Kurt go. _He was yours!_ it insists, even as Blaine mentally shouts back, _No, he wasn’t._

Blaine keeps reading, chuckling despite himself when Kurt pretty much calls him a Disney prince, only to smile sadly at Kurt’s assertion that he doesn’t know Blaine well enough to like him back.

He almost stops reading. It feels like what happened two years ago is happening all over again: he discovers this wonderful, beautiful, amazing person, but is only allowed to get a glimpse of him, a brief taste of his perfection, before he is lost to Blaine forever.

His eyes sting, and he rubs them roughly before he makes himself keep reading.

_But I’d **like** to get to know you better,_ Kurt wrote, and Blaine freezes.

He closes his eyes, and opens them, sucking in a quick breath. _I’d like to ask you to dinner tonight, if you’re free._

Blaine drops the letter, then picks it up again and re-reads the last paragraph, then re-reads it one more time, just to be certain. Maybe Kurt just means that he wants to be friends, maybe Blaine is completely imagining the hopeful tone in those words.

Or maybe he isn’t.

Well, Blaine has always been an optimist when it comes to love.

Clutching the letter in his hand, he runs to his jacket, fumbling one-handed through the pockets for his phone. He’s barely got it turned on when it starts to ring, and for one wild second, Blaine thinks, _Kurt,_ before he sees the call display.

“Hi Mom and Dad,” Blaine answers, talking quickly. “Listen, can I—”

“Blaine?” his dad says. “Sabrina just called. She told us what happened between you and that Hummel boy—”

“Kurt,” Blaine says flatly.

“Yes, him. Now, son, I don’t want to say that I told you so—”

Blaine rolls his eyes impatiently. “Dad—”

“—but I did tell you that he was the wrong choice. If your mother hadn’t—”

“Oh, I just wanted Blaine to be happy, and you know it,” his mother interrupts. “Blaine, honey, I’m so sorry the marriage didn’t work out. And don’t worry about the money – I don’t know what that boy said or did, but I’m sure Sabrina and her team can work it out. But you really should take this as a learning experience, dear, and make sure that you don’t give your heart too quickly to the wrong person.” 

“Reneging on an established contract like that does smack of a lack of integrity,” his dad agrees. “Well, I just hope that you will take our suggestions into deeper consideration in choosing your next—”

“Okay, stop – just stop,” Blaine says, having had enough of this. “First of all, he didn’t renege, I let him go. And I didn’t make the wrong choice, Mom. Dad, Kurt is absolutely _not_ dishonest in any way. Look, I get why he did it: he wanted an equal relationship that wasn’t based on one person owning the other. I don’t begrudge him his decision; in fact, I love him for it. And it’s not over either – Kurt just asked me out to dinner, and I’d like very much to hang up now, so that I may call him and accept.”

There is a brief moment of shocked silence on the other line, before his parents burst back into conversation, all three of them talking over each other in layers of broken sentences.

“Blaine, you can’t be serious—”

“What did that boy do? Is he blackmailing you? Because if he is—”

“What? No! Of course he’s not—how can you even—”

“You can’t possibly believe you’re in _love,_ honey; you’re not even twenty years old—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Blaine begs. “Please? I really need to call Kurt.”

“Look, I know you have this... infatuation with this boy, but—”

Blaine fists a hand in his hair, gritting his teeth in frustration. Finally, he just cuts them off and says, “Dad, remember when you first met Mom? You told me that looking at her was like seeing the sun for the first time. That’s how I feel about Kurt, Dad, just like that. And Mom, you said that when I found the one, I’d know it in my heart. Well, I know it, Mom, and it’s Kurt. And I’m not too young, this is not an infatuation, and he’s not taking advantage of me, I promise, so will you please, please get off the phone so I can call Kurt?”

His parents are quiet on the other end, and it takes everything Blaine has to not just hang up on them. Finally, he hears his father clear his throat and say, “That boy is not getting another cent of our money. Make sure he understands that.”

Blaine sighs in relief and shuts his eyes. “I will, Dad.”

“You barely know this boy, Blaine,” his mother says, one last token protest.

He smiles. “I know enough. Goodbye Mom and Dad. We’ll talk about this later.” He ends the call.

Blaine takes a deep breath and quickly types in the nine digits of Kurt’s phone number. He’s just about to press “Call,” when he stops. What if Kurt just wrote that last paragraph to be polite, sort of the way exes always say, “I hope we can still be friends,” when they really mean, “I hope I never have to talk to you again.”

Suddenly nervous, he clears the screen and open up a text message instead. It’s a bit cowardly, but at least, if Kurt doesn’t answer back, then he’ll know. He takes another deep breath to steady his trembling fingers. “Courage,” he tells himself. All right, then:

_To KURT (10:32 AM) : I’m not perfect._

“Wow, that’s not vague at all,” Blaine mutters to himself, and starts another message:

_To KURT (10:32 AM): I’m pretty oblivious to other people’s feelings, I always think I’m right, and I tend to say and do things without thinking them through first. I’m also kind of a coward, which is why I’m texting you instead of calling you._

“Why am I telling him the various ways in which I suck?” Blaine asks. “What am I doing?”

So he adds: _To KURT (10:33 AM): But I do like you. That part’s completely true._

“Wait, does Kurt even know who this is?” 

_To KURT (10:33 AM): I’m Blaine, by the way, in case you’re wondering who this is._

He winces at how... ridiculous that sounds, and he tries again:

_To KURT (10:34 AM): Also, my parents called, and they’re kind of angry with you right now, sorry. I did explain your situation, but they weren’t very understanding. They say that if I want to re-marry you without a contract, you’ll have to sign a pre-nup._

“Oh, my God, that sounds like I just asked him to marry me again – shit, what’s wrong with me?”

_To KURT (10:34 AM): Wow, I just got way ahead of myself on that last text, didn’t I? I’m really sorry. I did tell you that I don’t think before I open my mouth – or move my fingers, in this case. Please don’t change your mind about having dinner with me._

“Hold on, I never actually answered his question.”

_To KURT (10:35 AM): Oh, I haven’t said yes yet. Sorry, I probably should have done that first. YES, I’d LOVE to have dinner with you tonight. Do you have a place in mind? If not, I know this great sushi place that I think you’ll love._

“Okay, stop talking – just stop talking now.” He sits down on a nearby chair and puts his head in his hands. God, that was possibly the lamest, most stupid thing he’s ever done, and he once serenaded a store employee and got him _fired._ Well, he’s pretty sure that if Kurt had _any_ desire to go out with Blaine, he’s just taken care of that.

A few seconds later, his phone starts to buzz. Blaine picks it up: a text, from Kurt.

His heart racing, and already mentally composing the beginning of a polite, dignified response to Kurt’s inevitable refusal, he opens up the text.

_From KURT (10:36 AM): Sushi sounds lovely. Pick me up at 7pm? We can go to your place afterwards and watch a movie. I’ll bring an overnight bag. ;)_

“Oh. My. God,” Blaine says, placing a hand over his mouth. He didn’t mention Blaine by name, but Kurt can’t have meant this for anyone else; it has to be for Blaine. And did he just imply what Blaine thinks he’s implying?

Blaine hits Reply, and types the fastest text he’s ever typed in his life: _7pm it is!_ He pauses, then adds, cautiously, _Although I must confess that I lied to you earlier: I am TOTALLY the kind of boy who puts out on the first date. :)_

Moments later, Kurt responds with a simple, _Duly noted,_ and Blaine – he’s not proud of himself for doing this – leaps onto the couch and starts bouncing on the cushions, shouting for joy and feeling like today is the first day of the rest of his life.


End file.
